J 


•INTRODUCTION 

TO 

ETHICS; 

INCLUDING    A 

CRITICAL   SURVEY    OF  MORAL   SYSTEMS, 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 
OP 

JOUFFROY. 
BY    WILLIAM    H.    CHANNING. 


Of  THE 
IN  TWO  VOLUMES.     ft  I 


VOL.  L 


BOSTON  AND  CAMBRIDGE  : 
JAMES    MUXROE    AND     COMPANY. 

M.DCCC.LVIIl. 


Entered  according  to  Act  ot  Congress,  in  tne  year  1840, 

By  HILLIARO  **h*r,  AND  Co. 
IB  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE. 


THE  lectures,  of  which  a  translation  is  now  pre- 
sented, are  the  first  which  Jouffroy,  who  is  professor 
in  the  Faculty  of  Literature  at  Paris,  has  published. 
Induced  by  an  earnest  request  from  those  who  had 
attended  his  previous  courses,  that  his  interesting 
instructions  should  be  preserved  in  a  permanent 
form,  he  consented  to  have  his  extemporary  addresses 
taken  down  by  a  stenographer,  and  afterwards  re- 
vised and  corrected  them.  Their  design  may  be 
best  explained  by  the  following  extract  from  the 
author's  preface :  — 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that,  in  the  progressive  devel- 
opment of  my  ideas  upon  the  grand  problem  of 
human  destiny,  those  upon  ethics  could  most  readily 
be  separated  from  the  rest;  and  I  was  influenced  by 
tins  additional  consideration,  that  it  was  my  purpose 


Vlll  TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE. 

before  entering  upon  the  science  of  ethics,  to  pass  in 
review  the  various  systems  which  had  prevailed  in 
relation  to  the  fundamental  principles  of  morality. 
This  would  give  me  an  opportunity  to  explain  my 
own  system,  and  thus  sum  up  the  results  of  my 
previous  researches. 


uncertain  whether  1  shall  be  able  to 
complete  my  plan,  I  shall  subdivide  my  series  of 
lectures  into  several  parts,  of  which  each  will  form 
a  separate  work.  The  First,  under  the  title  of 
an  Introduction  to  Ethics,  will  be  devoted  to  a 
consideration  of  the  fundamental  principles  of  moral 
science,  and  will  include,  beside  my  own  views,  a 
review  and  criticism  of  all  the  important  solutions 
which  have  been  given  of  these  problems.  The 
Second,  under  the  title  of  Personal  Ethics,  will 
contain  a  system  of  the  duties  which  a  man  owes 
to  himself.  The  Third,  under  the  title  of  Actual 
Ethics,  will  explain  the  principles  of  conduct  by 
which  man  should  be  governed  in  his  relations  to 
things.  The  Fourth,  under  the  title  of  Svcicti 
Ethics,  will  embrace  the  science  of  rights  and 
duties  arising  from  the  various  relations  in  which 
man  stands  to  man.  The  Fifth,  and  last,  under 
the  title  of  Natural  Religion,  will  have  for  its  *ub- 


TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE.  IX 

jeet  the  relations  of  man  toward  God,  and  a  deter- 
mination of  the  duties  thence  resulting." 

These  volumes  contain  a  part  of  the  work  first 
mentioned,  an  "Introduction  to  Ethics,"  and  consist 
of  a  critical  review  of  various"  ethical  systems.  Pre- 
liminary to  this  survey  is  a  lecture  describing  the 
results  already  attained  by  previous  investigations, 
and  two  other  lectures  upon  the  facts  of  man's  moral 
nature,  from  which  some  notion  may  be  formed  of 
Jouffroy's  own  theory,  though  it  would  be  prema- 
ture to  discuss  it,  before  a  full  exposition  of  it  is 
given  in  a  third  volume,  soon  to  be  published.  All 
that  can  now  with  certainty  be  said  of  this  system 
is,  that  it  is  based  upon  scrupulous  psychological 
observation,  and  therefore  that  it  must  contain  much 
to  interest  and  instruct,  even  if  it  fails  to  be  an  ade- 
quate representation  of  human  nature.  For  though 
there  is  an  element  of  the  mysterious  and  infinite, 
pervading  the  spirit  of  man,  and  influencing  all  its 
operations,  which  no  analysis  can  enable  us  to  com- 
prehend, yet  the  suggestions  of  every  careful  student 
of  consciousness  are  a  most  important  aid  to  those 
who  seek  self-knowledge.  We  may  feel  sure,  too, 
that  this  theory  will  be  developed  with  the  singu- 
larly lucid  method  which  characterizes  the  other 


TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE 


writings  of  th's  philosopher,  and  expressed  in  a  style 
so  transparent,  as  often  to  hide  from  a  superficial 
eye  the  profoundness  of  the  thought.  Of  the 
ethical  system,  partially  unfolded  in  these  volumes, 
this,  then,  is  not  the  occasion  to  speak. 

But  an  expression  of  the  admiration  justly  due 
to  these  lectures,  as  criticisms,  should  not  be  with- 
held. From,  the  facts  of  human  pature,  which  he 
describes,  as  his  point  of  view,  Jouffroy  takes  a 
rapid  yet  comprehensive  survey  of  all  ethical  sys- 
tems, distinguishes  and  classifies  them  with  great  dis- 
crimination, and  then  proceeds  to  discuss,  in  order, 
the  theories,  which  seem  to  him  most  clearly  to 
manifest  the  essential  principle  of  their  respective 
classes.  It  may  add  new  interest  to  these  volumes 
in  the  eyes  of  English  scholars,  that,  in  almost  every 
instance,  a  selection  has  been  made  from  the  works 
of  authors,  by  the  spirit  of  whose  writings  the  moral 
atmosphere  of  England  and  of  our  own  country  is 
pervaded.  The  sagacity  with  which  this  critic  pene- 
trates to  the  very  essence  of  these  systems,  and  the 
fairness  with  which  he  recognizes  their  claims  to 
respect,  do  equal  honor  to  his  head  and  heart. 
Most  readers  of  these  lectures  will  probably  admit, 
that  they  had  never  rightly  understood  the  principles 


TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE.  XI 

of  Hobbes,  of  Bentham,  of  Smith,  and  of  Price, 
nor  comprehended  the  consequences  to  which  they 
necessarily  tend,  until  they  had  seen  them  illumi- 
nated by  the  analysis  of  this  clear  and  candid 
Frenchman.  The  two  lectures  upon  Spinoza  are 
entitled  to  especial  praise,  as  well  for  the  lucid  ness 
of  the  descriptions  and  reasonings,  as  for  the  humility 
with  which  so  deep-read  a  scholar  confesses  his 
inability  perfectly  to  comprehend,  and  his  incompe- 
tency  to  pass  judgment  upon  this  most  abstract  of 
all  systems.  To  those  who  believe  that  every  con 
scientious  seeker  discovers  some  elements  of  truth, 
while  the  whole  is  not  revealed  even  to  the  largest 
minded,  such  an  historical  review  of  opinions,  as  is 
here  given,  must  be  invaluable. 

Here  this  preface  might  with  propriety  be  closed. 
But  such  gross  misconceptions,  as  to  the  character 
of  modern  French  philosophy,  still  prevail  among  us, 
notwithstanding  the  full  expositions  which  have  been 
laid  before  the  public,  that  it  seems  unjust  to  let 
any  opportunity  pass  unused  of  making  known  the 
true  position  which  the  writers  of  this  school  occupy. 
This  will  now  be  attempted  by  simply  restating,  as 
briefly  and  clearly  as  possible,  what  has  often  been 
said  at  greater  length. 

b 


*n  TRANSLATORS  PREFACE. 

Within  little  more  than  half  a  century,  the  world 
has  witnessed  the  rise  of  three  distinct  schools  of 
philosophy  —  the  Scottish,  the  German,  and  the 
French.  The  characteristic  principle  of  the  Scottish 
*  school,  which  originated  in  1763  with  Reid,  is  a 
rigorous  application  of  the  inductive  method  to 
the  science  of  mind.  This  Locke  had  *  previously 
attempted,  but,  preoccupied  with  his  theory,  that  all 
ideas  are  derived  from  sensation  and  reflection,  he 
made  the  monstrous  oversight  of  excluding  the  most 
vital  of  all  ideas  —  the  first  truths,  communicated 
spontaneously  by  reason.  The  necessary  result 
of  Locke's  system  was  the  skepticism  of  Hume. 
Appalled  by  this  consequence,  Reid  was  led  to 
detect  the  fallacy  of  the  modes  of  investigation,  still 
employed  by  philosophers,  and,  discarding  hypoth- 
esis, to  adopt  psychological  observation  as  the  only 
true  method  in  intellectual  and  moral  science.  By 
this  rule  the  Scottish  school  has  been  scrupulously 
governed;  and  though  it  must  be  admitted  that  their 
observations  have  been  hasty,  partial,  and  confused, 
and  that  their  inductions  have  been  careless  and 
incomplete,  yet  the  world  owes  a  large  debt  of 
gratitude  to  these  writers,  for  their  clear  elucidation 
of  the  primary  importance  of  psychology. 


TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE.  .  XJJ1 

The  German  school  took  its  rise  from  the  writings 
of  Kant,  in  1781.  Kant,  like  Reid,  was  impelled 
to  enter  upon  the  profound  researches  which  will 
immortalize  his  name,  by  perceiving  that  the  con- 
sequences, which  Hume  had  deduced  from  the 
principle,  that  experience  is  the  only  source  of  ideas, 
were  strictly  logical.  With  powers  of  reflection 
far  surpassing  those  of  any  Scottish  writer,  he 
applied  himself  to  the  work  of  analyzing  the 
elements  of  the  human  mind  ;  and  succeeded  in 
demonstrating,  what  Reid  had  assumed,  that  intui- 
tive reason  suggests  primary  ideas,  which,  though 
first  recognized  on  the  occasion  of  some  experience, 
cannot  be  derived  from  it,  inasmuch  as  they  enter 
into  the  very  act  of  the  mind,  by  which  this 
experience  is  received.  By  the  psychological 
information,  which  he  communicated,  Kant  has 
conferred  a  lasting  benefit  upon  his  race,  and 
substituted  spiritualism  in  place  of  sensualism  for- 
ever. But  Kant  did  not  stop.  here.  Under  the 
influence  of  the  philosophy  of  Descartes,  the  whole 
energies  of  his  mind  were  directed  towards  ascer- 
taining the  certainty  of  human  knowledge;  and  in 
the  solution  of  this  problem  he  was  brought  to  the 
adoption  of  a  system  of  skepticism  far  deeper 
than  that  of  Hume's,  which  he  had  refuted.  His 


XIV  TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE. 

assertion,  that  we  have  no  means  of  proving  the 
existence  of  objective  realities,  corresponding  to  our 
subjective  ideas,  determined  the  movement  and  char- 
acter of  the  German  school.  The  original  thinkers 
who  have  succeeded  Kant,  have  turned  their  attentior 
almost  exclusively  to  logical  and  ontological  ques 
tions.  A  later  age  may  pronounce  the  methods  they 
have  pursued  delusive,  and  distrust  the  results  at 
which  they  have  arrived ;  but  it  will  also  probably 
acknowledge,  with  respect,  that  these  eloquent  writers 
have  awakened  a  new  reverence  for  the  human  spirit, 
and  communicated  to  the  minds  of  their  own  and 
other  lands,  fresh  vigor,  by  the  freedom  of  thought, 
and  depth  of  sentiment,  with  which  their  works  are 
inspired. 

vVhile  the  Scottish  school  has  thus  been  absorbed 
by  psychology,  and  the  German  school  by  ontology 
and  logic,  the  French  school,  which  is  their  suc- 
cessor, has  imbibed,  in  some  degree,  the  principles 
of  each,  and  blended  them  with  a  method  of  its 
own.  It  may  be  said  to  have  commenced,  in  1811, 
with  the  attempts  of  Maine  de  Biran  and  Royer- 
Collard  to  overthrow  the  systems  of  sensualism  and 
skepticism,  which  had  so  fatally  taken  possession  of 
the  French  mind.  The  efforts  of  these  philosophers 


TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE.  XV 

introduced  a  profounder  study  of  facts,  an  acquaint- 
ance with  the  writings  of  the  Scottish  school,  and  a 
stricter  application  of  the  inductive  method.  They 
began  the  work  of  reform.  But  it  is  to  Victor 
Cousin  that  the  French  school  is  indebted  for  the 
wide  celebrity,  which  it  enjoys  throughout  continental 
Europe;  and  for  the  influence  which  it  is  beginning 
to  acquire  in  England  and  in  this  country.  The 
clear  analysis,  the  rigorous  inductions,  the  extensive 
scholarship,  and  brilliant  eloquence  of  this  admirable 
lecturer  and  writer,  have  secured  him  a  sway  over 
the  thoughtful  minds  of  his  own  nation,  which 
promises  to  substitute  rational  faith  for  unbelief,  and 
generous  principles  of  private  and  political  conduct 
for  the  maxims  of  selfishness.  This  movement 
Jouffroy  is  well  fitted  to  advance,  from  his  habit 
of  patient  observation,  his  liberal  spirit,  and  perfect 
simplicity  of  method  and  of  style. 

The  leading  principles  of  the  French  school  are 
three. 

I.  PSYCHOLOGY  is  THE  BASIS  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 
The  facts  of  human  nature,  recognized  by  con- 
sciousness, are  the  only  foundation  for  metaphysical 
or  moral  science.  Neglect  of  observation  leads 


xvi  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

to  useless  hypotheses.  Erroneous  observation  gives 
rise  to  systems  false  in  principle  and  fatal  in  their 
consequences.  Thorough  acquaintance  with  the  fun- 
damental laws  of  our  minds  is  of  indispensable 
importance.  The  first  qualification  of  the  philoso- 
pher, therefore,  is  the  power  of  profound  reflection. 
Though  indebted  in  part  for  this  principle  to  Reid 
and  Stewart,  the  writers  of  the  French  school  have 
comprehended  it  more  distinctly,  and  applied  it  more 
strictly,  than  their  teachers,  and  have  arrived  at 
results  more  de'finite  and  complete  than  theirs.  As 
psychologists,  Cousin  and  Jouffroy  have  never  been 
surpassed. 

II.     THE    HIGHEST    PROBLEMS    OF    ONTOLOGY    MAY 
BE    SOLVED    BY    INDUCTIONS    FROM    THE    FACTS   WHICH 

PSYCHOLOGY  ASCERTAINS.  We  are  not  limited  to  a 
simple  acquaintance  with  our  own  consciousness ;  but 
by  reasoning  upon  our  ideas,  and  the  phenomena 
which  experience  brings  before  us,  we  may  rise  to 
a  knowledge  of  the  Infinite  Being.  Though  the 
influence  of  the  German  school  may  here  be  recog- 
nized, the  two  methods  are,  in  fact,  directly  opposite. 
The  Germans  begin  with  the  absolute,  and  descend 
to  man ,  the  French  begin  with  man,  and  ascend  to 
the  absolute.  With  regard  to  this  principle,  it  may 


TRANSLATOR  S  PREFACE.  XV11 

be  remarked,  in  relation  to  Jouffroy,  that  lie  has 
imbibed  the  caution  of  the  Scottish  philosophers , 
while  Cousin,  in  his  bolder  generalizations,  shows 
more  affinity  with  the  writers  of  Germany. 

ILL    PSYCHOLOGY  AND  THE  HISTORY  OF  PHILOS- 
OPHY  RECIPROCALLY    EXPLAIN    EACH    OTHER.         This 

is  the  principle,  which,  being  more  peculiarly  charac- 
teristic of  the  French  school,  has  given  the  system 
its  distinctive  name  of  Eclecticism.  The  principle 
is  a  most  simple  and  rational  one,  though  it  has  been 
most  strangely  misunderstood.  Eclecticism  means 
exactly  the  contrary  of  a  commingling  of  heteroge- 
neous systems;  being  intended  to  designate  a  dis- 
criminating selection  of  the  elements  of  truth  which 
may  be  found  in  each  system.  It  may  be  thus 
explained :  Philosophical  opinions  and  popular  be- 
liefs must  correspond  to  some  essential  principles  of 
human  nature,  or  else  they  would  never  have 
appeared,  nor  awakened  sympathy.  Were  the 
various  doctrines,  in  which  men  have  believed, 
accurately  analyzed,  we  should  have  a  complete 
lepresentation  of  man's  spirit.  The  creeds  of  men 
have  grown  out  of  some  primary  law  of  their  minds. 
There  is  a  portion  of  truth,  then,  in  every  system 
of  opinion  and  of  faith.  But  how  shall  we  detect 


XV111  TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE. 

this,  and  separate  it  from  the  errors  with  which  .. 
is  combined?  Only  by  a  knowledge  of  the  funda- 
mental faculties  and  tendencies  of  our  nature.  This 
psychology  alone  can  give.  Psychology  enables  us 
to  recognize  in  any  system  the  element  of  our 
spiritual  being  which  it  imbodies.  Thus  the  facts 
which  we  observe  in  human  nature  enable  us  to 
explain,  to  criticise,  and  judge,  the  theories  which 
the  history  of  philosophy  describes.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  our  psychology  may  be  defective.  How 
shall  we  test  it?  By  its  adequacy  to  account  for 
the  opinions  which  men  have  professed.  If  we 
meet  with  systems  which  we  cannot  explain,  our 
observations  have  been  partial,  our  psychology  is 
incomplete,  and  we  must  resume  our  study  of  the 
facts  of  consciousness. 

The  following  lectures  afford  a  perfect  illustra- 
tion of  the  manner  in  which  these  principles  of  the 
French  school  should  be  applied. 

This  hasty  description  may  be  sufficient  to  show 
that  the  writers  of  the  French  school  are,  at  least, 
safe  guides  in  philosophical  investigations.  The 
love  of  truth  and  liberality,  which  breathe  through 
their  works,  are  the  best  antidote  for  whatever  errors 


TRANSLATOR  S    PREFACE.  XIX 

they  may  teach  A  familiar  acquaintance  with  them 
can  tend  only  to  make  us  conscientious  observers, 
strict  reasoners,  candid  critics,  and  thorough  scholars. 
And  now  to  all  fellow-students  of  philosophy  these 
lectures  are  presented,  with  the  sincere  hope  that 
they  may  derive  from  their  perusal  the  instruction 
and  pleasure,  which  have  amply  repaid  the  labor 
of  the  translator. 

CINCINNATI,  December  &J,  1839. 


CONTENTS 


VOLUME   FIRST. 


LECTURE  I. 
OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE. 


LECTURE  II. 
THE    FACTS    OF    MAN  8    MORAL   NATURE 24 

LECTURE  III. 
THE    SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED 57 

LECTURE  IV. 
SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY 83 

LECTURE  V. 
SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM 115 

LECTURE  VI. 
SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM. SPINOZA .    145 

LECTURE  VII. 
THE    SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED 175 


XX11  CONTENTS    OF    VOLUME    FIRST. 


LECTURE  VIII.  Pag,. 

SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM 200 


LECTURE  IX. 

REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM 221 

LECTURE  X. 
THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT   AGE 248 

LECTURE  XL 
THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES 279 

LECTURE  XII. 
THE    SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED.  ........      305 


JOUFFROY. 


2£S' 

tKr 


JOUFFROY 


LECTURE   I. 

OBJECT  AND  DIVISION  OF  ETHICAL  SCIENCE. 

GENTLEMEN, 

THE  inquiry,  to  which  our  attention  will  be 
directed  during  the  present  course  cf  lectures,  forms 
but  one  chapter  of  that  more  general  inquiry,  which 
has  been  the  subject  of  my  instructions  from  this  chair 
for  the  last  three  years.  It  at  once  presupposes  the 
preceding  courses,  and  prepares  the  way  for  those 
which  are  to  follow.  Before  describing,  therefore,  the 
precise  subject  to  which  our  attention  will  now  be 
particularly  directed,  it  may  be  well  to  reconsider  the 
grand  problem  that  for  three  years  past  has  occupied 
us ;  to  review  briefly  such  portions  of  it  as  we  have 
thus  far  discussed;  and  then  to  set  clearly  before 
our  minds  the  part  that  now  presents  itself,  according 
to  the  general  plan  which  we  had  marked  out.  This 
rapid  review  will  not  be  unprofitable  to  those  who  have 
attended  the  previous  courses,  and  it  will  be  absolutely 
necessary  for  all  who  have  not. 

Human  destiny,  regarded  in  its  threefold  aspect, — 


JOUFrUOY. 


as  embracing  the  destiny  of  individuals,  the  destiny 
of  communities,  and  the  destiny  of  the  race,  —  this, 
gentlemen,  is  the  problem,  to  the  solution  of  which 
my  instructions  have  been  devoted.  When  I  first  pre- 
sented it  to  your  consideration,  I  endeavored  not  only 
to  make  you  feel  how  obscure  and  yet  how  important 
a  problem  it  is,  but  also,  by  a  severe  analysis,  to 
resolve  it  into  the  several  questions  which  it  includes. 
Having  separated  and  disengaged  these  elementary 
problems,  I  then  showed  their  connection  with  each 
other,  and  the  logical  order  in  which  they  should  be 
discussed.  And  thus,  having  settled  precisely  the 
divisions  of  this  vast  inquiry,  and  the  method  to  be 
followed  in  its  pursuit,  we  began  our  labors,  taking 
up  first  the  particular  question  that,  according  to  the 
plan  we  had  marked  out,  came  first  in  order. 

This  question  was  as  follows :  WJiat  is  the  destiny 
of  man  in  the  present  life  1  The  connection  between 
the  destiny  of  a  being  and  his  nature,  is,  as  you  well 
know,  most  intimate.  Indeed,  the  different  destinies 
of  different  beings  are  determined  wholly  by  their 
natures.  If  all  beings  had  the  same  nature,  their  destiny 
would  be  the  same.  It  is  to  the  nature  of  a  being, 
therefore,  that  we  must  look,  when  we  would  learn 
his  destiny ;  for  it  is  this  which  imposes  it  upon  him, 
and  from  this  it  results  as  necessarily  as  a  consequence 
from  a  principle,  or  an  effect  from  a  cause.  We  have 
applied  this  method,  dictated  as  it  is  by  good  sense, 
to  man,  and,  from  the  examination  of  his  nature,  we 
have  inferred  his  absolute  and  final  end.  But,  in 
comparing  this  final  end  of  man  with  that  to  which 
he  actually  attains  in  this  life,  we  have  been  struck 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.  ;> 

with  a  fact,  which  has  proved  to  us,  that,  in  order  to 
determine  what  is  his  end  upon  earth,  we  must  have 
regard  to  something  beside  his  nature  This  fact  is 
the  difference  between  the  destiny  to  which  man 
actually  here  attains,  and  that  which  we  see  traced  in 
plain  characters  upon  his  nature.  We  have  easily 
discovered  the  cause  of  this  difference.  The  circum- 
stances amidst  which  our  nature  is  here  placed,  are 
such  as  to  render  the  completion  of  our  destiny 
impossible.  The  destiny  of  man  on  earth  is  determined 
not  only  by  his  nature,  therefore,  but  by  his  condition 
also.  And,  to  decide  what  it  must  be,  we  should 
consider,  first,  his  nature,  and  then  the  circumstances 
of  his  present  being.  It  has  been  by  examining  the 
resultant,  so  to  speak,  of  these  two  combined  forces, 
that  we  have  arrived  at  a  solution  —  I  trust  a  legiti- 
mate one  —  of  the  question  proposed.  The  first  year 
of  my  instructions  was  devoted  exclusively  to  the  solu- 
tion of  this  problem,  which  is  the  elementary  question 
of  moral  philosophy. 

The  second  question  that  occupied  our  attention 
was  this  :  Is  the  destiny  of  man  wholly  accomplished  in 
this  life  1  or  did  it  commence  before  birthj  and  will  it 
continue  after  death?  And  no  one,  before  having 
determined  this  question,  however  profound  has  been 
his  study  of  the  present  life,  should  flatter  himself  that 
he  has  a  complete  idea  of  the  destiny  of  man,  or 
even  a  clear  idea  of  his  destiny  here.  There  is  but 
one  mode  of  solving  this  question,  and  it  is  a  sure 
one.  It  is  to  see  whether  human  destiny  has  in  this 
world  a  true  beginning  and  completion,  or  whether 
it  is  rather  a  drama,  whose  prologue  and  catastrophe 


0  JOUITUOY. 

are  wanting.  It  has  appeared  to  us,  from  examination; 
that  the  actual  destiny  of  man  in  this  life  is  inexpli- 
cable, except  upon  the  supposition  of  a  life  hereafter; 
and  when  we  have  compared  it,  such  as  it  now  is, 
with  the  destiny  which  seems  necessarily  to  result 
from  his  nature,  we  have  been  convinced  that  his 
destiny  is  not  completed  here .  hence  our  conclusion 
that  another  scene  of  being  is  absolutely  demanded 
to  do  his  nature  justice.  We  have  boldly  asserted, 
therefore,  the  reality  of  this  future  life;  and  we  have 
anticipated  its  character,  by  supposing  that  it  will  be 
especially  adapted  to  the  completion  of  his  destiny. 
Thus  have  we  convinced  ourselves  of  the  necessity 
of  a  life  hereafter,  and  have  decided  what  the  destiny 
of  man  in  that  life  will  be.  The  same  method  applied 
to  the  problem  of  a  life  preceding  the  present  one, 
has  led  us  to  an  opposite  result,  but  one  quite  as 
much  to  be  depended  on.  Indeed,  we  have  satisfied 
ourselves,  that,  although  the  last  acts  of  the  drama 
of  human  destiny  are  not  to  be  performed  on  earth, 
yet  still  it  had  its  true  commencement  here ;  and  that 
there  is  no  necessity,  therefore,  for  supposing,  ante- 
rior to  birth,  a  prologue  to  the  present  life.  Two 
years  were  devoted  to  this  important  inquiry,  which 
forms  one  branch  of  natural  religion. 

Thus  you  see,  gentlemen,  the  manner  in  which 
the  first  three  years  have  been  occupied,  and  the 
result  to  which  we  have  been  led.  At  the  present 
stage  of  the  inquiry,  we  have  completely  solved  — 
according  to  the  measure  of  our  weak  intelligence  — 
the  general  problem  of  the  destiny  of  man.  We  have 
learned  that  this  destiny  is  divided  into  two  parts, 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.  7 

of  which  the  first  is  accomplished  in  this  life;  while 
the  second  is  to  be  completed  in  one  or  more  future 
scenes  of  being.  We  have  learned  the  exact  point 
to  which  this  work  of  human  development  is  carried 
here,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  will  be  completed 
hereafter;  and  we  have  learned,  further,  the  reason 
why  it  was  necessary  that  it  should  begin  here,  and 
the  necessity  for  its  being  completed,  having  been  once 
begun.  In  a  word,  not  only  have  we  learned  what  is 
the  actual  destiny  of  man  in  this  world,  but  have  seen 
that  this  destiny  —  at  once  so  sad,  yet  happy,  so  grand, 
though  limited  —  is  to  be  justified  and  explained  only 
by  a  foresight  of  such  a  completed  destiny  as  we  have 
been  led  to  contemplate.  Here  is  the  precise  point 
in  our  inquiry  at  which  we  have  arrived ;  and  we  are 
now  to  advance  yet  further. 

The  question  that  next  presents  itself,  according 
to  our  plan,  is  this :  The  end  to  which  man  is  destined 
being  known,  what  should  be  his  conduct  under  all 
possible  circumstances  ?  or,  in  other  words,  What  are 
the  proper  rules  of  human  conduct  1  The  answer  to 
this  question  forms  the  subject  of  the  science  of  ethics. 
And  the  course  of  lectures  of  this  and  several  succeed- 
ing years  will  be  occupied  in  giving  this  answer.  A 
question  so  vast  must  require  many  years  for  its  full 
consideration. 

The  relations  connecting  this  question  with  those 
which  have  before  occupied  our  attention,  and  which 
we  have  now  reviewed,  must  be  evident  to  you  at 
once.  It  would  be  as  absurd  to  inquire  how  a  being 
should  conduct  himself  whose  end  is  unknown,  as 
to  inquire  what  is  the  end  of  a  being  whose  nature 


8  JOUFFROY. 

is  unknown.  For  the  same  reason,  therefore,  that 
man's  nature  should  be  determined  before  we  inquire 
what  is  his  destiny,  should  the  question  of  his  destiny 
be  solved  before  we  consider  his  duties.  The  question 
that  we  are  now  to  consider  becomes,  therefore,  an 
appropriate  one.  And  now,  having  pointed  out  the 
relations  of  this  question,  and  unfolded  its  meaning, 
let  us  proceed  to  measure  its  extent  and  separate  its 
elements,  and  thence  draw  out  a  proper  plan  for  this 
new  inquiry  upon  which  we  are  about  to  enter,  or, 
if  you  please,  the  chart  for  our  voyage. 

But,  in  the  very  outset,  we  meet  with  a  prejudice 
against  the  whole  science  of  ethics,  which  it  is 
neither  philosophical  nor  reasonable  to  pass  by.  Upon 
this  prejudice,  indeed,  are  founded  the  objections 
of  numerous  systems  to  the  science ;  and,  if  these 
objections  do  rest  upon  good  grounds,  the  science 
is  destroyed,  and  the  object  of  our  present  pursuit 
proved  to  be  an  illusion.  The  ideas  of  rules  and 
law,  of  rights  and  duties,  imply  the  idea  of  obligation ; 
and  it  is  plain,  that,  if  there  really  is  nothing  obligatory 
for  man  —  if  the  idea  of  obligation  is  but  a  vain 
imagination,  which  the  breath  of  philosophy  dissi- 
pates —  then  all  other  ideas  resting  upon  it  vanish  also, 
and  with  them  the  science  of  ethics,  which  presupposes 
them.  To  seek  for  rules  and  laws  for  human  conduct, 
is  to  seek  for  that  which  man  ought  or  ought  not  to 
do  —  for  that  which  it  is  his  duty  to  accomplish  and 
respect  —  for  that  which  he  has  a  right  to  require 
other  men  to  respect.  Now,  if  he  is  really  bound  by 
no  duties,  and  if  other  men  are  bound  by  none  in 
.  relation  to  him,  then  are  there  no  .rule.s,  no  laws  of 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.  CJ 

human  conduct,  to  be  sought ;  and  the  object  of  the 
science  of  ethics  —  the  science  itself —  disappears 
altogether.  It  is,  then,  I  repeat,  a  vital  question  for 
the  science  of  ethics,  whether  there  is  or  is  not  any 
thing  obligatory  for  man.  Many  systems  have  an- 
swered this  question  in  the  negative.  To  describe 
the  different  ways  by  which  they  have  arrived  at  this 
common  conclusion,  would  be  to  anticipate  the  matter 
of  the  subsequent  lectures.  It  is  sufficient  at  present, 
therefore,  ,to  say  that  there  are  such  systems,  and  that 
they  have  obtained  celebrity  from  the  authority  of  the 
distinguished  men  who  have  been  their  authors.  The 
mere  fact,  however,  that  these  systems  do  call  in  ques- 
tion the  very  foundation  of  those  rules  for  human 
conduct  which  we  propose  to  consider,  is  enough  to 
show  that  we  ought,  before  entering  upon  any  exami- 
nation of  those  rules,  first  to  examine  the  truth  of 
these  systems,  and  to  discuss  the  grounds  of  the 
prejudice  on  which  they  are  based.  We  will,  there- 
fore, gentlemen,  open  the  present  course  of  lectures 
with  this  examination,  and  not  proceed  to  a  considera- 
tion of  the  various  branches  of  human  duty,  until  we 
have  remov|d  this  prejudice,  and  reassured  ourselves 
that  there  really  is  a  law  of  human  obligation. 

Let  us,  however,  pass,  for  the  present,  to  a  view 
of  the  natural  subdivisions  of  human  duty,  assuming 
for  the  time  that  there  really  is  a  law  of  obligation. 

It  might  be  said  that  there  is,  in  truth,  but  one  duty 
for  man,  which  is,  to  accomplish  his  destiny.  The 
destiny  of  man  being  known,  the  rules  for  his  conduct 
aiihJtnown  also.  This  is  true;  but  equally  true  is  it, 
that  the  relations  in  which  man  is  placed  are  so 


10  JOUFFROY. 

numerous  and  complex,  that  it  is  not  always  easy  to 
see  how  he  should  conduct  in  order  to  accomplish 
this  end.  Hence  it  follows,  that  although  his  chief 
duty  does  comprise  the  principles  and  spirit  of  all 
duties,  yet  it  is  necessary  to  set  these  forth  distinctly. 
To  do  this  requires  deep  meditation  and  great  sagacity  ; 
for  the  subject  is  at  once  extensive  and  difficult.  It 
is  the  object  of  the  science  of  ethics  to  determine 
the  rules  for  conduct.  It  begins  with  describing  the 
grand  relations  which  man  sustains,  and  then  passes 
on  to  a  consideration  of  the  various  branches  of  duty 
appropriate  to  each.  Its  great  divisions  correspond 
to  our  grand  relations,  and  its  subdivisions  embrace 
the  rules  of  human  conduct  which  these  different 
relations  impose.  The  science  is  complete,  when  it 
omits  no  relation,  and  describes  every  branch  of  duty. 

It  is  long  since  the  common  sense  of  humanity  has 
declared,  that  man  sustains,  in  this  life,  four  principal 
relations:  the  first,  to  God;  the  second,  to  himself; 
the  third,  to  things,  animate  and  inanimate,  which 
people  the  creation  ;  the  fourth,  to  his  kind.  Through 
all  ages,  therefore,  the  inquiry  has  been,  what  are 
the  rules  for  human  conduct  in  these  four  grand 
relations ;  and  the  science  of  ethics  has  been  divided 
into  four  corresponding  branches. 

We  will  preserve  this  division,  because  it  is  legiti- 
mate and  complete,  and  it  would  be  in  vain  to  seek 
a  better.  Such,  then,  are  the  four  grand  inquiries 
embraced  in  the  subject  of  our  present  course,  when 
taken  in  its  full  extent.  But  it  is  not  enough  to 
indicate  merely  this  general  division.  We  must  take 
*  nearer  view  of  the  different  parts,  and  settle  precisely 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.         11 

the  object,  extent,  and  proper  name  of  each.  Let 
us  consider,  then,  successively,  these  four  grand 
relations  which  we  have  stated,  and  enter  into  some 
more  detailed  description  of  the  branches  of  ethical 
science  corresponding  to  them. 


FIRST   RELATION. 

Relation  of  Man  to  God. 

One  element,  by  which  our  judgment  as  to  the 
proper  rules  for  human  conduct,  in  each  of  the  four 
grand  relations,  may  be  determined,  is  always  given  ; 
I  mean  the  knowledge  of  man's  true  destiny  —  of  his 
final  end.  But  another  element  is  also  given,  peculiar 
to  each  relation ;  and  that  is,  the  nature  of  the  being 
to  whom  man  is  related,  and  the  nature  of  the  relation 
which  thence  results. 

In  the  relation  that  we  are  now  to  consider,  we 
must  elevate  ourselves  to  a  knowledge  of  God,  and 
of  our  relations  to  him,  before  we  can  determine  the 
rules  which  should  direct  our  conduct  towards  him. 
A  correct  description  of  these  rules  will  depend,  then, 
not  only  upon  the  truth  of  our  conception  of  man 
and  of  his  destiny,  but  also  upon  the  purity  of  the 
idea  that  we  form  of  God,  and  of  our  relations  to 
him.  Hence  arise  the  diversity  and  progressive  puri- 
fication of  human  opinions  in  relation  to  this  first 
branch  of  ethics,  which  is  usually  called  natural 
religion.  The  name,  however,  is  an  improper  one; 
for  it  corresponds  to  only  one  branch  of  natural 


12  JOUFFROY. 

religion,  which,  in  its  full  extent,  embraces,  in 
addition  to  this  question  of  our  duties  towards  God, 
the  further  questions  of  God's  nature,  and  of  man's 
future  destiny  —  three  problems,  perfectly  distinct, 
but  usually  embraced  under  one  common  name.  Cor- 
responding in  history  to  this  branch  of  ethics,  we 
find  such  various  modes  of  worship  as  have  been 
adopted  under  different  systems  of  religion.  Through 
all  nations  and  ages,  men  have  endeavored,  through 
positive  laws  and  customs,  to  express,  in  a  more 
or  less  imperfect  way,  the  conception  that  they  had 
formed  of  religious  duty.  Parallel,  therefore,  to  this 
division  of  ethical  science  we  have  an  historical 
manifestation  of  man's  ideas  of  it.  And  to  all  other 
divisions  we  shall  find  similar  historical  parallels.  We 
must  add,  then,  to  our  description  of  the  laws  for 
conduct,  which  reason  announces,  a  history  of  the 
manners  and  customs,  by  which  man  has  expressed 
his  various  conceptions  of  them. 


SECOND    RELATION. 

Relation  of  Man  to  Himself. 

The  branch  of  ethics  that  describes  the  proper 
rules  of  man's  conduct  towards  himself,  is  called 
personal  morality.  A  thorough  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  and  of  the  external  conditions  upon  which  its 
development  depends,  when  added  to  the  true  concep- 
tion of  our  destiny,  will  enable  us  to  decide  upon  the 
rules  for  the  right  treatment  of  both  body  and  sou* 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.         13 

To  refute  the  opinion  of  those  who  deny  that  there 
is  such  a  branch  of  ethics,  it  is  enough  to  read  the 
works  of  Epictetus  or  of  Marcus  Aurelius;  or  to 
suppose  a  man  shut  up  in  solitude  in  a  desert  island  ; 
or  to  examine  the  opinions  of  those  who  pretend, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  all  other  branches  of  moral 
duty  may  be  resolved  into  this.  Without  adopting 
this  last  opinion,  a  little  reflection  will  soon  convince 
us,  that  no  duties  can  be  more  important.  We  find, 
in  different  forms  of  religious  observances,  and  in 
the  ethical  systems  of  philosophers  of  all  ages,  —  in 
national  laws,  especially  in  those  of  antiquity,  —  and, 
above  all,  in  the  manners  and  customs  of  all  times 
and  lands,  —  numberless  rules,  practices,  habits,  cor- 
responding with  this  branch  of  ethics,  and  expressing, 
with  more  or  less  clearness,  the  absolute  rule  of  duty 
which  man  owes  to  himself.  Such  laws  and  obser- 
vances, taken  together,  form  the  historical  parallel  to 
this  division  of  ethical  science. 


THIRD    RELATION. 

Relation  of  Man  to  Things. 

Under  the  name  things,  I  include  all  surrounding 
creatures,  animate  or  inanimate,  organized  or  un- 
organized, with  the  exception  only  of  our  own  race, 
I  am  justified  in  giving  to  them  all  alike  this  common 
designation,  by  the  consideration,  that,  in  my  opinion, 
free  will  and  reason  are  needed  to  constitute  personali- 
ty ;  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  these  are  any  more  to 

VOL.  I.  B 


14  JOUFFROY. 

be  found  in  animals,  even  in  those  which  appear  to 
a  certain  degree  intelligent,  than  they  are  in  minerals 
or  plants.  Will  you  excuse,  then,  the  use  of  this 
expression,  which  I  have  adopted  for  the  sake  of  con- 
venience, and  which  will  not  prevent  us  from  making 
the  proper  distinction  between  the  different  classes 
of  beings  represented  by  it?  To  form  a  clear  and 
accurate  idea  of  this  branch  of  ethics,  to  which  no 
name  is  particularly  assigned,  we  can  suppose  the 
case  of  a  man  living  alone  on  an  island,  like  Rob- 
inson. We  shall  thus  avoid  all  questions  referring  to 
the  right  of  property,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  right  of 
making  use  of  things,  exclusively  of  other  men  —  ques- 
tions properly  arising  under  the  relation  in  which  man 
stands  to  his  fellow  man,  and  wholly  distinct  from 
those  which  are  suggested  by  the  relation  of  individual 
man  to  things.  In  this  supposed  case  of  a  man  alone 
in  the  midst  of  things,  you  will  perceive  that  there  are 
questions  of  duty,  peculiar  to  this  relation.  They  are 
such  as  these  :  Have  we  a  right  to  convert  to  our  own 
uses  the  nature  of  things  ?  Are  there  limits  to  this 
right  1  What  are  these  limits  ?  Are  the  limits  the 
same  in  relation  to  animals  as  to  things  inanimate  ? 
The  rules  which  we  should  form  for  our  own  conduct 
towards  things,  depend,  you  will  see,  upon  the  solu- 
tion of  these  questions ;  and  this  solution  depends 
upon  our  ideas  of  our  own  destiny,  of  the  nature  of 
these  creatures,  their  destination  and  purpose  here, 
and  of  the  relations  between  ourselves  and  them.  Such 
is  the  true  object  of  this  branch  of  ethics ;  and  it  is 
divided  into  two  parts  —  the  rules  of  our  conduct 
towards  animals,  and  the  rules  of  our  conduct  towards 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.         15 

things,  properly  so  called.  To  these  rules  correspond, 
in  the  various  forms  of  religion,  in  the  customs,  and 
even  in  the  laws  of  certain  people,  various  practices, 
which  are  their  historical  counterpart,  and  represent 
them  more  or  less  distinctly. 


FOURTH     RELATION. 

Relation  of  Man  to  his  Kind* 

The  relations  which  may  arise  between  man  and 
man  are  so  various,  that  the  corresponding  division  of 
ethical  science  is  much  the  largest  and  most  complex. 
And  some  writers  have,  in  consequence,  appropriated 
the  name  ethics  exclusively  to  the  rules  of  proper 
conduct  between  man  and  man.  Subdivisions  of  these 
rules,  too,  have  received  particular  names,  and  have 
become  the  objects  of  distinct  sciences.  And  again, 
in  the  third  place,  some  authors  have  introduced  into 
the  science  of  ethics,  thus  understood,  researches 
which  make  no  part  of  it  whatever.  The  phraseology 
used  in  relation  to  this  division  of  ethical  science  has 
thus  become  confused ;  and,  in  order  to  arrive  at 
precise  notions,  and  consequently  at  clear  and  definite 
expressions,  we  must  analyze  with  care  this  grand 
relation  of  man  to  man,  and  distinguish  from  each 
other  the  different  relations,  or  at  least  the  principal 
ones  which  it  embraces.  This  we  will  now  attempt ; 
and  I  must  ask  your  candid  attention. 

The  particular  relations,  comprehended  under  the 
general  relation  of  man  to  man,  admit  of  one  primary 


16  JOUFFROY. 

distinction,  founded  on  the  circumstance  that  some 
of  these  relations  would  exist  even  were  there  no  such 
state  as  society,  while  others  arise  wholly  out  of  this 
state,  and  presuppose  it. 

I  am  far  from  admitting  the  idea  of  that  state  of 
nature  which  some  philosophers  have  dreamed  of, 
who  allot  to  man,  as  he  came  first  from  the  hands  of 
his  Creator,  the  life  of  a  solitary  animal.  All  history 
protests  against  this  fiction  ;  and,  so  far  from  repre- 
senting this  condition  as  the  natural  state  of  man, 
history  proves  that  it  has  been  by  a  concurrence  of 
remarkable  circumstances,  and  only  in  a  few  rare 
cases,  that  any  individual  of  the  species  has  lived  thus 
solitary.  History  does  not  contradict,  however,  but 
rather  confirms  the  opinion  that  there  has  existed,  at 
least  in  some  portions  of  the  earth,  anterior  to  the 
formation  of  any  society,  a  state  which  we  might  well 
call,  for  the  sake  of  distinction,  the  state  of  nature; 
such  a  state,  for  instance,  as  Abraham  and  his  children 
are  described  as  living  in  by  the  Scriptures.  This 
state  differs  from  the  state  of  society  in  many  important 
respects,  the  chief  of  which  I  will  point  out.  It  is 
this:  —  The  state  of  society  is  adventitious,  founded, 
though  it  is,  on  many  principles  of  our  nature,  while 
the  patriarchal  state  is  necessary ;  in  other  words, 
we  cannot  conceive  of  man  as  existing  out  of  the 
family  state,  while  we  can  easily  conceive  of  him,  and 
history  has  often  pictured  him,  as  living  out  of  the 
social  state,  properly  so  called. 

When  we  consider  man  as  existing  in  this  state 
of  nature,  which  is  a  possible  one,  and  has  certainly 
preceded  the  social  state,  in  some  parts  of  the  earth, 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    El  II  1C AL    SCIENCE.         17 

and  probably  in  all,  we  find  that  there  are  two  relations 
between  man  and  man,  which,  equally  with  the  state 
itself,  are  independent  of  the  existence  of  society. 
These  are  the  relations  of  man  to  man  as  individuals 
of  the  same  species,  and  the  different  relations  created 
by  the  family  tie  among  its  members.  From  these  two 
kinds  of  relations  arise  two  branches  of  duties  and 
of  rights  —  the  duties  and  rights  of  humanity,  and  the 
duties  and  rights  of  family.  These  two  branches  may 
be  called  the  ethics  of  humanity,  and  the  ethics  of  fam- 
ily ;  and,  existing,  as  they  do,  independent  of  society, 
I  will  call  them  both  by  this  common  name  —  the 
ethics  of  nature. 

When  society  is  formed,  these  two  anterior  relations 
of  man  to  man,  as  such,  and  of  the  members  of  families 
towards  each  other,  are  found  already  existing  ;  but 
society  modifies  both.  In  the  bosom  of  society,  indi- 
viduals who  are  strangers  by  blood  do  not  remain  in 
the  simple  relation  of  man  to  man ;  they  enter  into  that 
of  fellow-citizens  of  the  same  state  ;  and  the  members 
of  a  family,  too,  continue  no  longer  to  be  simply  fathers 
and  sons,  husbands  and  wives,  brethren  by  blood,  but 
they  are  also  citizens  together  in  a  social  state. 
Society  modifies,  therefore,  the  rules  of  right  conduct 
between  man  and  man,  considered  as  such,  and  between 
the  members  of  a  family  in  all  the  domestic  relations. 
It  modifies  these  so  as  best  to  secure  the  good  of  the 
whole.  Now,  all  these  rules,  thus  modified,  extended, 
multiplied,  of  whatsoever  sort  they  may  be,  constitute 
what  may  be  called  private  ethics,  the  first  branch 
of  social  ethics ,  which  in  itself  embraces  the  rule? 

B2 


18  JOUFFROY. 

for  every  relation  that  can  exist  between  the  citizens 
of  the  same  state. 

But,  independently  of  such  relations  as  exist  pre- 
vious to  the  formation  of  society,  and  of  which  it 
modifies  the  character,  society  creates  a  wholly  new 
relation ;  it  is  that  of  a  citizen  to  the  society  of  which 
he  is  a  member,  or  to  the  power  which  represents  that 
society.  Hence  arise  the  rules  of  conduct  for  citizens 
towards  the  state,  and  for  the  state  towards  its  citizens, 
which  together  form  public  ethics,  so  called,  the 
second  branch  of  social  ethics. 

Here,  however,  an  objection  presents  itself,  that 
must  be  removed  before  we  go  further.  All  rules  of 
private  and  public  ethics  are  evidently  established 
relatively  to  the  constitution  of  each  particular  state 
of  society.  It  would  seem,  then,  at  first  view,  as  if 
they  must  be  wholly  dependent  upon  this  constitution, 
and  as  if  it  belonged  rather  to  positive  than  to  natural 
law  to  determine  them.  This  would  be  true  if  there 
were  not  essential  properties  common  to  all  possible 
forms  of  society,  which  arise  out  of  the  very  nature 
of  society,  independently  of  the  various  forms  which 
it  may  assume,  and  thus  constitute  its  fundamental 
elements.  These  essential  conditions  give  birth  to 
essential  social  duties,  which  are  natural  and  absolute, 
duties  anterior  and  superior  to  all  positive  laws,  and 
which  it  is  the  very  purpose  of  social  enactments  to 
preserve,  under  every  possible  form  of  society.  Here, 
then,  we  have  the  natural  ethics  of  society  subdivided, 
as  positive  social  ethics  are,  into  public  duties  and 
private  duties. 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.         19 

You  see,  then,  that,  before  we  can  determine  the  rules 
of  the  natural  ethics  of  society,  we  must  have  pre 
viously  settled  two  points —  1.  The  end  of  all  society. 
2.  The  essential  conditions  of  all  society.  These  two 
questions  should  occupy  our  attention,  therefore,  before 
we  proceed  to  the  examination  of  the  rules  of  the  natural 
ethics  of  society.  And  here  let  it  be  remarked,  that  this 
whole  inquiry  is  distinct  from  questions  as  to  the  best 
organization,  and  the  best  form  of  society,  or  as  to 
the  best  means  of  securing  the  material  well-being 
of  society.  These  are  not  so  much  questions  of  duty 
as  of  art.  They  are  the  object  of  the  two  sciences 
of  politics  and  political  economy,  which  are  quite 
distinct  from  ethics  ;  and  I  should  not  have  alluded 
to  them  at  all,  had  not  some  authors  connected  them 
with  those  which  form  the  proper  object  of  ethical 
science. 

There  is  one  other  relation  which  arises  from  the 
general  relation  of  man  to  man :  it  is  that  of  societies 
to  societies.  The  rules  for  conduct  between  one 
society  and  another  are  evidently  the  same  with  those 
between  one  family  and  another  in  the  state  of  nature. 
They  constitute  what  is  called  the  ethics  of  nations, 
the  fifth  and  last  branch  of  this  division  of  ethical 
science. 

And  now,  to  review  our  train  of  thought,  we  have 
found  that  the  general  relation  of  man  to  man  divides 
itself  into  five  kinds  of  principal  relations — 1.  The 
relation  of  man  to  man  as  such,  which  is  the  object 
of  the  ethics  of  humanity  ;  2.  That  of  family,  which 
is  the  object  of  the  ethics  of  family ;  3.  That  of  fel- 
low-citizens of  a  social  state,  which  is  the  object  of 


20 


JOUIPROY. 


private  ethics ;  4.  That  of  citizens  to  the  state,  and 
of  the  state  to  citizens,  which  is  the  object  of  public 
ethics ;  5.  That  of  societies  to  societies,  which  is  the 
object  of  the  ethics  of  nations. 

These  five  grand  relations  may  be  subdivided  into 
three  classes — 1.  Those  existing  independently  of 
society,  which  are  the  object  of  the  ethics  of  nature : 
under  this  division  come  the  first  two  relations ;  2. 
Those  arising  from  the  existence  of  society,  which 
would  be  the  same  were  there  only  one  social  state  : 
these  are  the  object  of  social  ethics,  and  include  the 
third  and  fourth  relations;  3.  That  resulting  from 
the  simultaneous  existence  of  several  societies,  or  at 
least  of  several  families  living  separately,  which  is  the 
object  of  the  ethics  of  nations  :  this  is  the  fifth  and  last. 

These  different  branches  of  ethical  science  find 
their  parallels  in  history :  to  the  ethics  of  nature  cor- 
respond a  multitude  of  philosophical  systems  and 
eligious  usages ;  to  social  ethics,  all  positive  laws ; 
and  to  the  ethics  of  nations,  the  customs  which  have 
governed  the  intercourse  of  nation  with  nation,  in  all 
the  different  ages  of  the  world. 

Such  is  the  ideal  of  the  complete  science  of  ethics, 
as  it  has  presented  itself  to  the  finest  minds  which  have 
occupied  themselves  in  its  study.  But  as  the  word 
ethics  has  not  been  universally  used  in  so  wide  a 
sense,  it  may  be  well  to  make  you  acquainted  with 
such  other  and  different  meanings  as  have  been  at- 
tached to  it. 

When  we  consider  the  meaning  of  the  epithet 
natural,  in  the  term  natural  ethics,  we  shall  be  led  to 
understand  by  it  all  rules  of  conduct  resulting  from 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.        2i 

the  nature  of  things,  in  all  relations  whatever  to  which 
reason  can  attain.  Hence  a  very  general  acceptation 
of  the  word,  which  includes  in  natural  ethics  natural 
religion,  personal  morality,  our  duties  to  things,  and 
all  social  rights  and  duties  of  every  kind.  But,  #n  the 
other  hand,  if  we  particularly  regard  the  word  ethics, 
we  may  be  conducted  to  two  other  quite  different 
meanings  of  the  term.  Some  writers,  taking  the  word 
ethics  in  its  philosophical  sense,  that  is  to  say,  as 
implying  rights  correlative  to  duties,  are  unwilling  to 
employ  the  term  natural  ethics,  except  as  designating 
that  portion  of  the  rules  for  human  conduct,  which, 
by  imposing  a  duty  on  one  man,  create  a  corresponding 
right  for  another ;  and  they  limit  its  application,  there- 
fore, to  one  part  only  of  the  rules  for  the  conduct 
of  man  to  his  kind.  Hence  a  second  acceptation  of  the 
word,  according  to  which  natural  ethics  comprehends 
neither  natural  religion,  nor  personal  morality,  nor 
duties  to  things,  and  not  all  the  rules  of  conduct,  even, 
for  man  to  his  kind.  Others,  again,  taking  the  word 
ethics  in  a  yet  narrower  sense,  give  the  name  natural 
ethics  only  to  that  part  of  the  rules  of  human  conduct 
discoverable  by  the  reason  which  correspond  to  posi- 
tive laws.  This  leads  them  to  a  definition  much  less 
comprehensive  than  the  former.  Hence  the  third  and 
last  acceptation  of  the  term. 

For  myself,  I  would  say  that  the  use  of  these  words 
is  a  matter  of  indifference,  provided  a  definite  signifi- 
cation is  attached  to  them.  I  like  one  definition  as 
well  as  another.  But  in  the  present  lectures.  I  adopt 
the  first  mentioned,  which  gives  to  the  term  natural 
ethics  the  widest  possible  signification.  Ethics  then, 


22  JOUFFROY. 

with  me,  means  the  science  that  treats  of  all  the  rules 
for  human  conduct  in  the  various  relations  which  I 
have  enumerated.  This  science  it  is  my  wish  and 
purpose  to  describe.  It  only  remains  for  me  to  state 
the  o^Jer  in  which  I  propose  to  discuss  the  different 
portions  of  so  vast  a  subject. 

I  shall  begin  with  personal  morality,  or  the  rules  for 
the  conduct  of  man  towards  himself.  I  shall  then 
proceed  to  the  rules  for  man's  conduct  towards  things. 
Next,  I  shall  pass  to  those  which  arise  from  the 
relations  between  man  and  man,  taking  up  first  the 
ethics  of  nature,  proceeding  to  the  ethics  of  society, 
and  ending  with  the  ethics  of  nations.  I  shall  close 

o 

the  whole  course  with  the  consideration  of  natural 
religion,  both  because  it  is  the  crown  of  the  whole 
subject,  and  because,  having  already  directed  your 
attention,  during  two  consecutive  years,  to  one  branch 
of  this  science,  it  may  be  well  to  pursue  it  yet  further, 
Of  the  different  parts  of  this  subject  you  can  readily 
foresee  that  the  third  will  occupy  the  most  of  our 
time ;  and  it  is  pleasing  to  me  to  think  that  this  part 
will  interest  you  most  deeply.  I  will  do  all  in  my 
power  to  reach  it  as  soon  as  it  can  be  done  without 
sacrificing  to  your  curiosity  the  interests  of  the  science 
which  I  profess  to  teach  in  its  strictness,  and  whose 
purpose  it  is,  not  to  delight,  but  to  exhibit  truth.  Thib 
sacrifice  I  can  never  consent  to  make. 

One  word  more,  gentlemen,  before  I  close  this  lec- 
ture. Let  it  be  well  understood  that  it  is  no  part  of 
my  plan  to  teach  the  rules  for  human  conduct  in  detail, 
as  they  would  be  explained  in  a  catechism.  This 
would  be  an  endless  work,  and  would  tend  rather  to 


OBJECT    AND    DIVISION    OF    ETHICAL    SCIENCE.        23 

confuse  than  enlighten  your  minds.  My  purpose  is  very 
different.  I  wish  rather  to  establish  the  principles 
of  these  different  branches  of  the  law  of  nature,  and 
to  communicate  to  you,  if  I  may  say  so,  their  spirit 
and  substance.  For  it  is  far  less  important  to^know 
the  literal  rule  for  every  possible  situation  in  life,  than 
to  have  a  clear  and  enlarged  view  of  the  general  end 
which  we  should  propose  to  ourselves ;  leaving  it  to 
conscience  to  decide  what,  in  view  of  the  great  end, 
the  proper  course  may  be  in  the  innumerable  relations 
into  which  the  mutable  and  uncertain  scenes  of  life 
may  bring  us. 


24  JOUFFROY 


LECTURE    II. 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE 

GENTLEMEN, 

WE  have  seen,  in  our  former  lecture,  that 
the  object  of  the  science  of  ethics  is  the  discovery 
of  the  rules  for  human  conduct ;  and  that,  taken  in 
its  widest  extent,  it  embraces  all  rules,  of  every 
kind,  which  should  direct  man  in  the  present  life.  I 
have  pointed  out  to  you  the  different  parts  into  which 
it  is  naturally  divided.  And,  lastly,  I  have  stated 
what  branches  of  the  science  I  shall  pass  by  for  the 
time,  and  those  which  I  propose  to  treat  at  present, 
as  well  as  the  order  in  which  I  shall  take  them  up. 

Before  entering,  however,  upon  our  inquiries,  you 
will  remember  that  there  is  a  question  of  prejudice,  so 
to  speak,  which  we  are  to  examine  and  answer.  It  is 
as  follows: — Is  there  really  any  such  science  as 
ethics  at  all  ?  For,  as  you  well  know,  some  philo- 
sophical systems  have  endeavored  to  prove  that  there 
is  no  law  of  obligation,  and  that  morality  reduces 
itself  to  mere  counsels  of  prudence,  to  be  followed  or 
neglected,  at  our  own  risk. 

Now,  as  these  systems  deny  the  very  foundation 
of  ethics,  or  at  least  so  far  alter  it  as  to  destroy  its 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN*S  MORAL  NATURE.       25 

true  character  and  high  importance,  it  has  seemed  to 
me  necessary,  before  entering  deeply  into  the  science, 
first  to  examine  the  great  fact  in  our  nature  on  which 
it  rests,  and  to  discuss  the  numerous  systems  which  do 
thus  deny  or  alter  it.  Such  a  discussion,  as  you  will 
at  once  see,  properly  precedes  those  inquiries  which 
are  the  object  of  the  course ;  and,  besides,  what  can 
be  more  important  than  for  us  to  know  whether  there 
is,  in  truth,  any  law  of  obligation  for  human  conduct  ? 
The  consideration  of  this  question  as  to  the  law  of 
obligation  —  a  question  that  has  occupied  the  attention 
of  the  most  celebrated  writers  in  philosophy,  politics, 
and  jurisprudence  —  carries  us,  then,  you  will  see,  to 
the  very  foundation  of  all  duties  and  rights. 

I  have  hesitated  between  two  ways  of  proceeding  in 
this  discussion.  I  have  questioned  whether  it  would 
be  better  for  me  to  explain  and  refute  these  systems 
successively,  reserving  till  the  end  an  exhibition  of  the 
facts  in  human  nature  which  they  have  altered  or 
misconceived ;  or  whether  I  should  not  rather  com- 
mence with  an  outline  of  the  facts  of  human  nature, 
and  thence,  with  the  light  of  these  facts  before  us,  pass 
to  a  judgment  of  the  different  systems  which  have  given 
an  imperfect  view  of  them,  sacrificing  to  clearness 
whatever  greater  interest  novelty  might  give  to  the 
former  mode  of  criticism. 

I  have  determined  to  adopt  the  latter  method ;  for 
I  fear  that,  with  all  my  efforts  to  make  you  comprehend 
the  principles  and  tendency  of  each  system,  I  should 
still  fail,  unless  I  had  first  set  before  you  those  facts 
of  our  moral  nature  which  are  the  common  foundation 
on  which  all  systems  rest. 

VOL    T  c 


2  JOUFFROY. 

I  will  begin,  then,  with  presenting  my  own  system 
and  I  trust  you  will  find  it  to  be  an  exact  exposition 
of  the  principal  facts  of  man's  moral  nature.  Having 
thus  given  you  a  distinct  outline  of  these  facts,  I  will 
then  proceed  to  an  examination  of  the  different  sys- 
tems, and,  bringing  them  successively  into  comparison 
with  the  standard  of  truth,  I  will  attempt  to  show 
what  facts  they  have  either  overlooked  or  perverted. 
In  this  way  we  shall  be  enabled  to  mark  their  various 
degrees  of  deviation ;  and  it  will  become  an  easy  task 
to  refute  their  errors. 

We  will  devote  this  lecture,  then,  to  an  exposition 
of  the  facts  of  our  moral  nature  in  their  leading 
outlines ;  and,  as  this  will  be  little  else  than  a  recapit- 
ulation of  a  part  of  my  lectures  for  the  last  three 
years,  I  shall  confine  myself  to  a  rapid  review  of  the 
results  at  which  we  have  arrived,  endeavoring  at  the 
same  time  to  state  them  with  such  clearness  as  will 
enable  those  who  have  not  attended  the  previous 
courses,  easily  to  comprehend  them. 

Beings  are  distinguished  from  each  other  by  their 
organization.  It  is  this  which  makes  a  plant  distinct 
from  a  mineral,  and  animals  of  one  species  from  those 
of  another.  Every  being  has,  then,  his  own  peculiar 
nature ;  and  this  nature  destines  him  to  a  certain  end. 
The  destiny  of  a  bee,  for  example,  is  different  from 
that  of  a  lion,  and  a  lion's  from  that  of  a  man, 
because  their  natures  are  different.  Every  being  is 
organized  for  a  certain  end ;  and,  were  we  fully 
acquainted  with  the  nature  of  a  being,  we  might 
thence  infer  his  destiny.  There  is,  then,  an  absolute 
identity  between  the  true  good  of  any  being  and  his 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN*S    MORAL    NATURE.  27 

destiny.  His  highest  good  is  to  accomplish  his  des- 
tiny —  to  attain  the  end  for  which  he  was  or- 
ganized. 

As  every  being  has  a  particular  end,  which  is  his 
highest  good,  because  he  is  organized  in  a  certain 
manner,  and  in  virtue  of  this  organization,  so  there 
is  no  being  unendowed  with  such  faculties  as  are  fitted 
to  accomplish  this  end.  In  fact,  since  the  result  of  a 
being's  constitution  is  a  certain  destiny,  nature  would 
contradict  herself,  if,  after  having  appointed  him  to 
accomplish  this  end,  which  constitutes  his  good,  she 
had  not  also  bestowed  such  faculties  as  would  enable 
him  to  attain  it.  To  the  eye  of  reason  this  seems  a 
necessary  truth ;  and  experience  is  not  needed  to  verify 
it,  though  it  would  be  easy  at  any  time  to  do  so,  by 
an  examination  of  the  nature  of  beings,  of  the  end 
for  which  they  are  destined,  and  of  the  faculties  given 
to  them  to  accomplish  it.  Not  an  exception  could 
be  found  to  this  principle. 

Man,  then,  by  being  gifted  with  a  peculiar  organi- 
zation, has  necessarily  an  end,  the  accomplishment 
of  which  is  his  true  good;  and,  being  thus  organized 
for  a  certain  end,  he  has  necessarily  the  faculties  fitted 
to  accomplish  it. 

From  the  moment  when  an  organized  being  begins 
to  exist,  (and  this  remark  is  equally  true  of  unorgan- 
ized beings,)  its  nature  tends  to  the  end  for  which  it 
is  destined.  Hence  arise  within  that  being  impulses, 
which  carry  it  forward,  independently  of  all  reflection 
and  calculation,  toward  certain  particular  ends,  which, 
laken  collectively,  make  up  its  final  end.  We  will 


23  JOUFFROY. 

call  these  instinctive  emotions,  which,  even  in  reason- 
able beings,  have  no  character  of  deliberation,  which 
manifest  themselves  as  soon  as  the  child  is  born,  and 
develop  themselves  with  his  growth,  the  primitive  ten* 
dencies  of  human  nature.  These  tendencies  are  com- 
mon at  once  to  all  mankind,  and  yet  peculiarly  pro- 
portioned in  each  individual ;  and  the  celebrated  Dr. 
Gall  has  attempted  to  determine  and  enumerate  them 
in  an  exact  manner,  by  showing  how  they  exist,  in 
different  degrees  of  development,  in  different  indi- 
viduals, and  how  they  result  in  the  formation  of  each 
man's  character.  These  tendencies  have  attracted  the 
attention,  also,  of  a  few  philosophers,  who,  though 
they  have  not  used  them  as  they  might,  have  still  been 
guided  by  their  knowledge  of  them  in  the  construc- 
tion of  their  systems. 

As  soon,  then,  as  man  exists,  his  nature  aspires,  in 
virtue  of  his  organization,  to  the  end  for  which  he 
is  destined,  through  impulses  carrying  him  on  irre- 
sistibly towards  it.  Later  in  life,  we  call  these  im- 
pulses the  passions. 

Contemporaneously  with  the  development  of  these 
instinctive  tendencies,  impelling  us  to  the  end  which 
is  our  true  good,  the  faculties  with  which  God  has 
endowed  us,  that  we  may  attain  it,  also  begin  to  act 
under  the  influence  of  these  impulses,  and  thus  to 
seize  the  objects  which  they  are  fitted  to  grasp.  As 
soon  as  man  exists,  there  awaken,  on  the  one  side, 
tendencies  which  manifest  his  nature,  and  on  the 
other,  faculties  given  to  him  for  their  satisfaction. 
Such  is  the  commencement  and  primary  source  of 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN*S  MORAL  NATURE.       29 


human  activity  ;  and  so  long  as  life  lasts  do  all  the 
various  phenomena  of  human  conduct  spring  from 
the  same  origin. 

I  have,  I  believe,  clearly  proved,  in  the  previous 
courses  of  lectures,  that  when  these  faculties  which 
have  been  placed  in  us  that  we  may  realize  the  end 
to  which  our  impulses  aspire,  first  awaken  and  unfold 
into  activity,  they  do  so  in  an  indeterminate  manner, 
and  without  a  precise  direction. 

The  cause  of  the  concentration  of  our  faculties 
for  the  attainment  of  their  end,  which  soon  takes  place, 
is  the  fact  that,  in  a  life  ordered  like  the  present,  they 
meet  with  obstacles  which  would  otherwise  prevent 
their  ever  attaining  it.  I  have  already  shown  you 
that,  if  this  world  was  made  up  from  the  harmonious 
forces  of  beings  ;  and  if  all  these  forces,  instead  of 
opposing  one  another,  were  developed  peacefully,  —  • 
it  would  be  enough  for  a  being  merely  to  develop  itself 
to  attain  its  end  without  effort  ;  but  such  is  not  the 
structure  of  the  present  world.  We  might  rather 
define  it  as  a  conflict  of  various  destinies,  and  conse- 
quently of  the  forces  of  all  beings  which  compose  it. 

It  is,  then,  with  our  nature,  as  with  all  other 
natures,  that,  in  developing  itself  for  the  attainment 
of  its  end,  it  meets  with  obstacles  which  Arrest  and 
impede  it.  To  enable  you  to  comprehend,  in  a  precise 
manner,  the  fact  which  I  have  now  pointed  out,  I 
will  not  enter  into  detail,  but  give  merely  a  general 
outline,  selecting,  as  an  example  from  among  our 
faculties,  the  understanding,  whose  office  it  is  to 
satisfy  our  instinctive  desire  of  knowledge. 

As  you  well  know,  the  understanding  does  not 

c2 


30  JOUFFROY. 

discover  at  once  the  truth  it  seeks.  It  meets,  on  the 
contrary,  with  difficulty,  uncertainty,  darkness ;  in  a 
word,  with  obstacles  of  all  sorts  to  impede  it.  Now, 
what  happens  when  the  understanding,  developing 
itself  in  its  primitive  mode  of  action,  fails  to  grasp  the 
knowledge  which  it  is  fitted  to  acquire?  Spontane- 
ously it  makes  an  effort  to  overcome  the  obscurity  it 
meets  with,  and  the  difficulties  which  retard  it.  And 
this  effort  is  a  concentration  upon  one  point  of  forces 
before  diffused.  When  the  understanding  develops 
itself  instinctively,  it  takes  no  particular  direction,  but 
extends  itself  in  all,  raying  out,  as  it  were,  through  all 
the  senses;  but  every  where  meeting  with  various 
kinds  of  obscurity,  it  concentrates  itself  successively 
upon  them.  And  this  occurs  spontaneously  —  a  fact 
which  it  is  important  in  a  moral  point  of  view  to  state, 
because  this  spontaneous  movement  is  the  first  mani- 
festation of  the  power  which  we  possess  of  directing 
our  faculties,  the  first  sign  of  free  will.  Remark, 
now,  that  this  effort  of  concentration  does  not  result 
from  our  nature,  but  from  our  circumstances,  and  that 
we  feel  pain  whenever  we  are  obliged  to  make  it. 
Yes,  even  now,  disciplined  and  exercised  as  our 
faculties  are,  it  is  always  fatiguing  to  concentrate 
attention!  perseveringly  upon  a  particular  point.  It  is 
not,  then,  their  primitive  and  natural  mode  of  operation, 
but  one  to  which  they  are  condemned  by  the  condition 
of  humanity.  The  moment  effort  is  relaxed,  human 
nature  returns  with  pleasure  to  the  indeterminate 
mode  of  action  which  is  natural  to  it,  and  finds  there 
repose.  In  human  life  generally,  and  especially  in  the 
primitive  condition  of  man,  where  reason  has  hardly 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  31 

yet  appeared,  there  is  a  constant  alternation  between 
these  two  modes  of  the  development  of  our  faculties  — 
\he  indeterminate  or  natural,  and  the  concentrated  or 
voluntary. 

I  limit  myself  now  to  a  simple  statement  of  this  fact, 
though  hereafter  I  shall  draw  from  it  important  conse- 
quences. There  is  another  fact  of  equal  interest,  and 
it  is  this  :  However  great  may  be  the  efforts  made  by 
our  faculties  to  satisfy  the  primitive  tendencies  of  our 
nature,  and  to  supply  them  with  the  good  they  crave, 
pet  are  they  never  successful  in  obtaining  more  than 
an  incomplete,  and,  in  truth,  an  exceedingly  incomplete 
satisfaction.  Such  is  the  law  of  life.  Man  never 
triumphs  over  the  hard  condition  here  imposed  upon 
him.  In  the  present  life,  complete  satisfaction  of  our 
tendencies,  perfect  good,  is  never  found  —  a  fact  as 
incontestable  as  those  already  noticed.  • 

When  our  faculties,  becoming  active,  strive  to  find 
satisfaction  for  our  tendencies,  and  gain  some  portion 
of  the  good  they  seek,  the  phenomenon  which  we  call 
pleasure  appears.  Privation,  or  the  check  that  our 
faculties  experience  when  they  are  prevented  from  ob- 
taining what  they  seek,  produces  another  phenomenon, 
which  we  call  pain.  We  experience  pleasure  and 
pain,  because  we  are  not  only  active,  but  sensitive. 
It  is  owing  to  this  sensitiveness,  that  our  nature 
rejoices  or  suffers  according  to  our  success  or  failure 
in  the  pursuit  of  good.  We  can  conceive  of  a  nature 
which  should  be  active  without  being  sensitive.  It 
^vould  still  have  an  end  —  a  good  ;  tendencies  impelling 
it  towards  that  good  ;  faculties  fitted  to  attain  it: 
it  would  sometimes  be  successful,  sometimes  disap- 


3*2  JOUFFROY. 

pointed;  but  without  sensibility  it  could  never  ex- 
perience pleasure  or  pain,  that  is  to  say,  a  sensible 
recognition  of  good  and  evil.  Such  is  the  true  origin 
and  character  of  pleasure  and  of  pain ;  and  these 
phenomena  are,  as  you  at  once  see,  subordinate  to 
good  and  evil.  I  beg  you  to  remark  this  attentively, 
for  good  is  too  often  confounded  with  pleasure,  and 
evil  with  pain;  but  they  are  widely  distinct.  Good 
and  evil  are  success  or  failure  in  the  pursuit  of  those 
ends  to  which  our  nature  aspires  ;  we  could  obtain  one 
and  suffer  the  other  without  pleasure  or  pain,  if  we 
were  not  sensitive.  But  being,  as  we  are,  sensitive,  it 
is  impossible  that  our  nature  should  not  rejoice  when 
it  succeeds  in  attaining  its  good,  and  suffer  when  it 
fails.  This  is  the  law  of  our  constitution.  Pleasure, 
then,  is  the  consequence  and  the  sign  of  our  having 
reached  our  good  ;  pain,  the  consequence  and  sign 
of  our  failure  to  obtain  it.  But  the  pleasure  is  not 
the  good,  and  the  pain  is  not  the  evil. 

As  every  being  seeks  a  good,  rejoices  when  it 
attains  it,  suffers  when  it  fails,  it  must  love  every 
thing  which  can  aid  in  procuring  it,  and  feel  an 
aversion  to  whatever  prevents  its  acquisition.  It  is 
thus  that,  as  our  faculties  develop,  and  as  we  meet  with 
objects  which  advance  or  oppose  our  efforts,  we  feel 
for  the  first  time  affection  and  love,  aversion  and 
hatred.  In  this  way  it  is  that  our  tendencies,  that  is 
to  say,  the  most  important  of  them  —  the  true  passions 
of  human  nature  —  branch  out  as  they  advance  toward 
the  accomplishment  of  their  end,  and  become  divided 
into  a  multitude  of  particular  tendencies,  whfch  we  also 
call  passions.  But  these  are  distinguished  from  our  prim- 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN?S    MORAL    NATURE.  33 

Stive  passions  by  the  fact  that  the  latter  are  developed 
spontaneously  and  independently  of  all  external  objects, 
and  that  they  aspire  toward  their  end  even  before 
reason  has  made  that  end  known  to  us  ;  while  the 
passions  which  I  call  secondary,  are  first  called  forth 
by  the  external  objects  which  help  or  hinder  the  devel- 
opment of  the  primitive  passions.  Whatever  assists 
our  tendencies  we  call  useful;  whatever  interferes  with 
them,  injurious.  Such  is  the  origin  of  the  secon- 
dary passions,  and  of  the  idea  of  utility.  Among  our 
natural  tendencies  are  some,  which,  like  sympathy, 
have  regard  to  the  welfare  of  our  fellow-beings,  while 
others  have  not,  as  curiosity,  or  the  desire  of  knowl- 
edge, and  ambition,  or  the  desire  of  power,  for  example. 
And  although  it  is  true,  that  in  infancy,  and  before 
reason  makes  us  acquainted  with  our  nature,  all  our 
tendencies  are  developed  without  any  view  to  our  own 
good,  yet,  even  then,  some  among  them  are  adapted 
to  procure  mere  selfish  gratification,  while  others  tend 
to  produce,  in  addition,  the  happiness  of  others.  And 
it  is  important  to  be  remarked,  that  even  when,  at  a 
later  period  in  life,  and  after  reason  has  begun  to  act, 
we  are  benevolently  disposed  towards  others,  it  is  not 
owing  to  the  influence  of  reason  alone,  but  also  of  our 
tendencies,  that  we  feel  this  sympathy,  which,  inde- 
pendently of  all  idea  of  duty  and  of  all  calculations  of 
interest,  impels  us  forward  to  the  good  of  others,  as 
its  proper  and  final  end.  The  principle  is  personal ; 
but  the  end  to  which  it  spontaneously  aspires  is  the 
good  of  others.  Thus,  even  when  man  is  moved  by 
instinct  only,  he  already  has  the  benevolent  affec- 
tions. 


34  JOUFFROY. 

The  facts  which  I  have  thus  far  presented  are 
peculiar  to  the  primitive  state  of  man  —  his  infancy. 
When  reason  appears,  two  changes  take  place  in  this 
primitive  state,  from  which  two  other  moral  states, 
entirely  distinct,  arise.  Before  describing,  however, 
these  two  states,  let  us  reconsider,  in  a  few  words, 
the  constituent  elements  of  the  primitive  state.  I  have 
said,  that,  in  the  very  commencement  of  life,  certain 
tendencies  develop  themselves,  and  manifest  the  end 
for  which  man  is  created ;  that  contemporaneously 
appear  certain  faculties  adapted  to  aid  them  in  obtain- 
ing satisfaction ;  that  the  unaided  development  of  these 
faculties  is  naturally  indeterminate,  but  that  the  obsta- 
cles which  they  meet  with  produce  incidentally  a 
concentration,  which  is  the  first  manifestation,  or  the 
earliest  stage,  of  the  development  of  the  will.  .You 
have  seen  that  human  nature,  because  it  is  sensitive 
experiences  pleasure  when  its  tendencies  are  satisfied 
and  pain  when  they  are  not ;  that,  further,  it  feels 
love  for  whatever  assists,  and  aversion  for  whatever 
prevents,  the  development  of  our  tendencies ;  and  that 
thus  our  primitive  passions  branch  out  into  a  multitude 
of  secondary  passions.  Such  are  the  elements  of  the 
primitive  state.  The  peculiar  distinction  of  this  state 
is  the  exclusive  dominion  of  passion.  Undoubtedly 
there  is,  in  the  fact  of  the  concentration  of  our  faculties, 
a  commencement  of  self-control,  and  of  the  personal 
direction  of  our  faculties  ;  but  this  power  is  as  yet 
blind,  and  entirely  obedient  to  the  passions,  which 
determine  necessarily  the  action  and  direction  of  our 
faculties.  It  is  at  this  period  that  reason  appears,  and 
frees  the  will  from  the  exclusive  empire  of  the  passions. 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      35 

Up  to  the  time  when  it  first  begins  to  exercise  its 
influence,  the  present  impulse,  .and  among  these  im- 
pulses the  strongest,  has  carried  the  will  captive, 
because  as  yet  there  can  be  no  foresight  of  evil  conse- 
quences. Thus  the  passion,  for  the  moment  active, 
triumphs  over  passions  which  are  dormant,  and  among 
passions  already  awakened,  the  strongest  has  sway. 
This  is  the  law  of  human  volition  and  action  in  the 
primitive  state.  The  will  already  acts,  but  it  is  not 
yet  free.  We  have  power  over  our  faculties,  but  we 
cannot  yet  direct  them  altogether  as  we  choose.  Let 
us  now  contemplate  the  change  produced'  when  the 
reason,  awakening,  leads  us  out  from  this  condition 
of  infancy. 

Reason,  in  the  simplest  definition  of  it,  is  the  faculty 
of  comprehension ;  and  we  must  be  careful  not  to 
confound  it  with  the  faculty  of  knowing.  Animals 
acquire  knowledge,  but  we  see  no  signs  of  their  being 
able  to  comprehend  ;  and  this  distinguishes  them  from 
men.  If  they  could  comprehend,  they  would  be  like  us, 
and  instead  of  living  as  they  do  now,  in  the  condition 
in  which  they  are  born,  they  would  rise  successively, 
as  man  does,  to  the  two  moral  states  which  reason 
introduces. 

When  reason  first  begins  to  exert  its  power,  it 
finds  human  nature  in  full  development,  its  tendencies 
all  in  play,  and  its  faculties  active.  In  virtue  of  its 
nature,  that  is  to  say,  of  its  power  of  comprehension, 
it  enters  into  the  meaning  of  surrounding  phenomena, 
and  it  at  once  comprehends  that  all  these  tendencies 
and  faculties  are  seeking  one  common  end  —  a  final 
and  complete  end,  which  is  the  satisfaction  of  our 


36  JOtJFFROY. 

entire  nature.  This  satisfaction  of  our  nature,  which 
is  the  sum  and  resultant  of  the  satisfaction  of  each 
separate  tendency,  is  our  true  end  —  our  real  well- 
being  and  good.  Toward  this  good  all  passions  of 
every  kind  aspire ;  and  it  is  this  good  which  our  nature 
is  impelled,  with  every  unfolding  faculty,  to  seek. 
Reason  comprehends  this,  and  the  general  idea  of 
good  springs  up ;  and  although  the  good,  of  which  we 
thus  acquire  the  idea,  is  still  a  personal  good,  yet  have 
we  made  an  immense  advance  from  the  primitive  state 
when  we  had  no  such  idea. 

'  The  observation  and  experience  of  what  is  con- 
stantly passing  within  us  enables  reason  to  comprehend 
that  the  complete  satisfaction  of  our  nature  is  impossi- 
ble, and,  consequently,  that  it  is  a  delusion  to  expect 
perfect  good ;  that  therefore  we  ought  not,  and  cannot, 
aspire  to  more  than  the  greatest  possible  good,  that  is 
to  say,  the  greatest  possible  satisfaction  of  our  nature. 
We  rise,  then,  from  the  idea  of  mere  good  to  the 
idea  of  the  greatest  possible  good. 

Reason  immediately  comprehends,  too,  that  every 
thing  which  can  conduct  us  to  our  highest  good  is 
itself  good  on  that  very  account,  and  that  every  thing 
which  would  turn  us  from  it  is  evil ;  but  it  does  not 
confound  these  two  properties  of  certain  objects  with 
good  and  evil  in  themselves,  that  is  to  say,  with  the 
satisfaction  or  disappointment  of  our  nature.  It 
draws  a  wide  distinction  between  good  in  itself  and 
the  means  proper  to  produce  it ;  and,  generalizing  this 
property  common  to  various  objects,  it  rises  to  the 
idea  of  the  useful. 

Reason  does  not  fail  to  distinguish  also  this  satis- 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN*S    MORAL    NATURE.  3? 

faction  or  disappointment  of  the  tendencies  of  our 
nature  from  the  agreeable  or  disagreeable  sensations 
which  accompany  them  in  our  sensibility;  and  per- 
ceives that  the  idea  of  pleasure  is  different  from  those 
of  good  and  of  utility,  and  the  idea  of  pain  from  those 
of  evil  and  of  injury ;  and  as  it  had  before  acquired 
the  general  idea  of  good  and  the  idea  of  utility,  so 
now,  by  combining  all  agreeable  sensations  together, 
does  it  form  the  general  idea  of  happiness. 

Thus  these  three  ideas  of  good,  utility,  happiness, 
are  soon  deduced,  by  reason,  from  the  spectacle  of  our 
nature  in  its  process  of  development —  ideas  which,  in 
all  languages,  are  perfectly  distinct,  because  all  lan- 
guages represent  that  common  sense  which  is  the 
truest  expression  of  reason.  Man  has  now  a  key  to 
the  secret  operations  which* are  passing  within  him. 
Heretofore  he  has  lived  without  comprehending  them, 
but  now  he  has  become  intelligent;  he  sees  the  origin 
and  scope  of  his  passions,  the  direction,  bias,  and 
measure  of  his  faculties ;  he  learns  the  nature  and 
origin  of  his  love  and  hatred,,  the  causes  of  his  pleas- 
ure and  his  pain;  all  becomes  plain  through  the 
teachings  of  reason. 

But  reason  does  not  stop  here.  It  comprehends, 
too,  that,  in  the  condition  hi  which  man  is  actually 
placed,  self-control,  or  the  direction  of  the  faculties  and 
forces  of  which  he  is  conscious,  is  the  indispensable 
condition  for  his  attaining  the  greatest  possible  satis- 
faction of  his  nature.  ^ 

In  fact,  so  long  as  our  faculties  are  abandoned  to 
the  guidance  of  passion,  they  obey  the  passion  which 
i«  dominant  for  the  moment ;  and  therein  is  a  twofold 
VOL.  i.  D 


38 


JOUFFROY. 


disadvantage.  For,  first,  the  passions  are  so  variable 
and  transient,  that  the  sway  of  one  is  soon  displaced 
for  that  of  another ;  there  can  be,  therefore,  no  pro- 
gressive or  steady  action  of  our  faculties,  and  conse- 
quently nothing  important  is  accomplished.  And, 
secondly ;  a  momentary  good,  gained  by  the  satisfaction 
of  any  dominant  passion,  is  often  the  cause  of  great 
evil,  while  a  momentary  evil,  from  not  satisfying  it,  often 
is  a  means  to  great  good ;  so  that  nothing  is  less 
suitable  to  produce  our  highest  good  than  the  direction 
of  our  faculties  by  our  passions.  Reason  is  not  slow 
in  discovering  this,  and  of  course  concludes  that,  for 
the  attainment  of  our  highest  good,  it  is  not  well  that 
human  will  should  be  any  longer  a  prey  to  the  mechan- 
ical forces  of  passion  ;  it  sees,  on  the  contrary,  that, 
instead  of  being  borne  on  by  impulse  to  the  satisfaction 
of  any  passion  which  may  for  the  instant  be  strongest, 
it  would  be  better  that  our  faculties  should  be  freed 
from  this  servitude,  and  directed  exclusively  to  the 
realizing  of  what  is  clearly  seen  to  be  for  the  interests 
of  all  our  passions,  that  is  to  say,  the  highest  possible 
good  of  our  nature.  And  the  more  strongly  reason 
conceives  of  this  end,  the  more  satisfied  is  it  that  we 
have  the  power  to  effect  it.  It  depends  on  ourselves 
to  form  the  estimate  of  our  greatest  possible  good; 
reason  enables  us  to  do  it.  Equally  does  it  depend  on 
ourselves  to  set  free  our  faculties,  and  to  employ  them 
for  the  fulfilment  of  this  idea  of  our  reason.  For  we 
have  the  power ;  it  has  been  already  manifested,  and 
we  have  recognized  it  in  the  spontaneous  effort  by 
which,  to  gratify  a  passion,  we  concentrate  upon  one 
point  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind.  We  nave  but  to 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  39 

do  voluntarily,  what  we  have  already  done  spontane- 
ously, and  free  will  is  born.  The  instant  that  this 
grand  revolution  is  conceived  of,  that  instant  it  is 
accomplished.  A  new  principle  of  action  springs  up 
within  us,  namely,  self-interest,  well  understood  —  a 
principle  which  is  not  a  passion,  but  an  idea,  which  ib 
not  the  result  of  a  blind  and  primitive  instinct,  but 
of  deliberate  and  rational  reflection  —  a  principle 
which  is  not,  like  the  passion,  a  momentum,  but  a  mo- 
tive. Strengthened  by  this  motive,  our  natural  power 
over  our  faculties  exerts  itself,  and,  directing  them  by 
this  idea,  shakes  off  the  bondage  of  passion  and  develops 
into  full  vigor.  Henceforth  human  power  is  free  from 
the  vacillating  and  turbulent  empire  of  passion,  and 
becomes  subject  to  the  law  of  reason ;  it  forms  an 
estimate  of  the  greatest  possible  satisfaction  of  our 
tendencies,  that  is  to  say,  of  our  highest  good,  and 
pursues  self-interest,  well  understood. 

Such  is  the  new  moral  condition  which  the  action 
of  reason  introduces;  self-interest,  well  understood,  is 
substituted  for  the  partial  good  to  which  the  passions 
impelled  us,  as  the  end  ;  and  self-direction  is  made  the 
means.  The  exclusive  dominion  of  passion,  which 
characterized  the  primitive  state,  is  over.  A  new 
power  has  come  in  between  the  passions  and  our  fac- 
ulties, even  reason  and  free  will ;  of  which  the  first 
points  out  an  end,  and  the  second  directs  our  faculties 
in  its  pursuit. 

It  must  not  be  thought,  however,  that,  after  this 
revolution,  the  direction  of  human  power  in  the  hands 
of  reason  receives  no  support  from  passion.  The  fact 
is  quite  otherwise.  When  reason  first  perfectly  com- 


40 

prebends  the  inconvenience  of  yielding  to  passion,  yet 
more  when  it  conceives  the  idea  of  "interest  well 
understood,  and  of  the  importance  of  giving  it  a  pref- 
erence in  every  case  over  our  passing  impulses,  then, 
at  that  very  instant,  does  our  nature,  in  virtue  of  its 
laws,  become  passionately  attached  to  that  system  of 
conduct  which  appears  a  good  means  to  attain  its  end, 
or,  in  other  words,  passionately  attached  to  all  that  is 
useful ;  it  loves  this  system  of  conduct,  deviates  from  it 
only  with  regret,  and  feels  aversion  for  all  that  opposes 
it.  Thus  passion  comes  in  aid  of  the  government  of 
human  power  by  interest  well  understood,  and  harmo- 
nious action  ensues  between  the  passionate  and  rational 
elements  of  the  soul.  Yet  is  not  this  cooperation 
entire ;  for  the  idea  of  our  highest  good,  as  conceived 
by  the  reason,  does  not  stifle  wholly  the  instinctive  ten- 
dencies of  our  nature  ;  they  still  remain  active,  because 
they  are  imperishable,  and  crave,  as  before,  instant 
gratification,  and  strive  to  employ,  for  this  end,  the 
force  of  our  faculties,  and  often  succeed.  The  idea 
of  self-interest  well  understood  finds  sympathy  indeed 
from  our  passions;  but  it  encounters  also  an  opposing 
host.  Human  power  is,  then,  far  from  being  com- 
pletely redeemed  from  the  influence  of  the  passions  in 
the  second  state.  They  disturb  too  often,  especially 
in  weak  minds,  the  control  of  self-interest.  In  a  word, 
where  reason  introduces  the  idea  of  self-interest,  a  new 
moral  state,  a  new  mode  of  self-determination,  arises. 
But  it  does  not  steadily  take  the  place  of  the  primitive 
mode  of  action.  Man  oscillates  between  the  two, 
now  resisting  impulse  and  following  his  interest,  now 
yielding  to  it  a  free  range ;  a  new  mode  of  self- 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN*S    MORAL    NATURE.  41 

determination  is  introduced,  notwithstanding,  into  the 
operations  of  our  spiritual  being. 

This  new  moral  state  and  mode  of  self-determination 
is,  precisely  speaking,  the  selfish  state.  The  essence  of 
self-love  is  the  knowledge  that,  in  acting,  we  are  promo- 
ting our  own  peculiar  good.  But  this  knowledge  we 
are  unconscious  of  in  the  primitive  state,  and  the 
child  therefore  cannot  be  called  selfish.  In  him  the 
instinctive  tendencies  of  nature  reign  supremely,  each 
aspiring  to  its  particular  end,  as  to  a  final  end  ;  the 
child  perceives  these  ends,  loves  them,  strives  to  attain 
them,  but  he  sees  no  further.  It  is  true,  to  be  sure, 
that  the  passions  are  really  tending  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  whole  nature ;  but  the  child  is  unconscious  of 
this  tendency ;  he  is  not,  then,  selfish,  in  the  true  sense 
of  that  word.  He  is  innocent  as  Psyche,  loving  with- 
out knowing  what  love  is.  Reason  in  man  is  the 
torch  of  Psyche.  Reason  alone  can  reveal  to  him 
the  final  end  of  his  passions,  and  thus  substitute  a 
rational  motive  to  conduct,  for  the  impulses  which 
before  directed  him.  Reason  alone,  then,  calls  forth 
true  self-love ;  it  cannot  possibly  exist  in  the  primitive 
state  of  infancy. 

As  yet  we  have  not  reached  the  state  which  pecu- 
liarly and  truly  deserves  the  name  of  moral.  It  results 
from  a  new  discovery  made  by  reason  —  a  discovery 
which  elevates  man  from  the  general  ideas  which 
belong  to  the  period  of  self-love,  to  universal  and 
absolute  ideas. 

This  step  the  moralists,  who  base  their  systems  on 
self-interest,  do  not  take.  They  stop  at  self-love.  In 
making  it,  vre  cross  an  immense  abyss,  which  separates 


42  JOUFFROY. 

the  selfish  from  the  disinterested  school  of  morals. 
Let  us  so«,  then,  how  this  transition  from  the  second 
state,  which  I  have  just  described,  to  the  moral  state, 
properly  so  called,  is  effected. 

There  is  an  illogical  arguing  in  a  circle  concealed 
beneath  the  selfish  explanation  of  human  volitions. 
The  selfish  system  gives  the  name  of  good  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  tendencies  of  our  nature,  and  when 
asked,  Why  is  the  satisfaction  of  these  tendencies  a 
good  ?  it  answers,  Because  it  is  the  satisfaction  of  the 
tendencies  of  our  nature.  It  is  in  vain  that,  to  escape 
from  this  vicious  circle  of  reasoning,  the  selfish  system 
seeks,  in  the  pleasure  which  accompanies  the  satisfac- 
tion of  our  tendencies,  an  explanation  of  the  asserted 
fact,  that  this  satisfaction  and  our  good  are  equivalent. 
Reason  finds  no  more  evidence  that  pleasure  is  equiv- 
alent to  good,  than  that  the  satisfaction  of  our  nature 
is ;  and  the  reason  why  this  latter  is  so,  remains  there- 
fore unexplained.  It  is  this  mystery,  which,  by  pain- 
fully perplexing  us,  forces  reason  to  ascend  one  step 
higher  in  moral  conceptions.  Elevating  itself  above 
exclusively  personal  considerations,  it  conceives  the 
thought  that  creatures  of  all  kinds  are  situated  like 
ourselves;  that  all  having  a  nature  peculiarly  their  own, 
aspire,  in  virtue  of  this  nature,  to  that  particular  end 
which  is  their  highest  good ;  and  that  each  of  these 
separate  ends  is  one  element  of  a  complete  and  final 
end,  which  absorbs  them  all  —  an  end  which  is  that 
of  the  creation  itself —  an  end  which  is  universal  order. 
The  realization  of  this  end  alone,  in  the  view  of 
reason,  merits  the  title  of  good,  fulfilling  the  idea, 
and  forming  an  equivalent  to  it  so  evident  that  it  needs 


THE  FACTS  OP  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE       43 

no  proof.  When  reason  has  ascended  to  this  concep- 
tion, it  has  reached,  for  the  first  time,  the  idea  of 
good.  It  had  previously  applied  the  name  in  a  con- 
fused manner  to  the  satisfaction  of  our  nature ;  but  it 
could  neither  explain  nor  justify  this  use  of  the  name. 
But  now,  in  the  light  of  this  new  discovery,  the  ap- 
plication of  the  word  becomes  clear  and  legitimate. 
Good  —  true  good  —  good  in  itself — absolute  good 
is  the  realization  of  the  absolute  end  of  the  creation  — 
is  universal  order.  The  end  of  each  'element  of  crea- 
tion, that  is,  of  each  being,  is  one  element  of  the 
absolute  end.  Each  being  aspires  towards  this  abso- 
lute end  in  seeking  its  own  peculiar  end,  and  this 
universal  aspiration  is  the  universal  life  of  creation. 
The  realization  of  the  end  of  each  being  is  then  an 
element  of  the  realization  of  the  end  of  creation,  that 
is  to  say,  of  universal  order.  The  good  of  each  being 
is  a  fragment  of  absolute  good ;  and  it  is  on  this 
account  that  the  good  of  each  being  is  really  a  good  ; 
thence  comes  its  character  ;  and  as  absolute  good  is 
worthy  of  all  reverence,  and  sacred  in  the  eyes  of 
reason,  so  the  good  of  each  being  —  the  realization 
of  its  end  —  the  accomplishment  of  its  destiny  —  the 
development  of  its  nature  —  the  satisfaction  of  its 
tendencies,  which  are  all  identical,  become  equally 
sacred  and  worthy  of  reverence. 

The  moment  the  idea  of  order  is  conceived,  reason 
feels  for  it  a  sympathy  so  profound,  true,  immediate, 
that  she  prostrates  herself  before  it,  recognizes  its 
consecrated  and  supreme  right  of  control,  adores  it 
as  a  legitimate  sovereign,  honors  it,  and  submits  to  it . 
as  the  natural  and  eternal  law.  To  violate  this  law 


44 


JOUFFROY. 


is  an  outrage  in  the  view  of  reason ;  to  realize  order, 
so  far  as  our  weakness  is  capable  of  it,  is  good,  is  right, 
is  worthy.  A  new  motive  of  action  is  made  known  — 
a  new  rule,  truly  a  rule  —  a  new  law,  truly  a  law  — 
a  motive,  rule,  and  law  self  legitimated,  which  are 
of  instant  obligation,  and  need  the  aid  of  nothing 
foreign,  of  nothing  anterior  or  superior  to  make  them 
recognized  and  respected. 

To  deny  that  there  is  any  thing  sacred,  venerable, 
obligatory  for  us  rational  beings,  is  to  assert  one  of 
two  things  —  either  that  human  reason  cannot  elevate 
itself  to  the  idea  of  good  in  itself,  of  universal  order  ; 
or  that,  after  having  conceived  this  idea,  reason  does 
not  bow  to  it,  nor  feel  instantly  and  deeply  that  it 
has,  for  the  first  time,  become  acquainted  with  its 
true  law.  But  neither  of  these  facts  can  possibly  be 
misunderstood  or  questioned. 

This  idea,  this  law,  gives  light  and  strength,  by 
showing  us  that  the  end  of  each  being  is  an  element 
of  universal  order  ;  it  communicates  to  these  ends,  and 
to  the  instinctive  tendencies  of  all  beings,  a  respect- 
able and  sacred  character,  which  they  had  not  before. 
Up  to  this  time  we  have  been  impelled  to  the  satis- 
faction of  our  tendencies  by  their  impulse,  or  by  the 
pleasure  which  follows  this  satisfaction.  Reason  had 
judged  this  satisfaction  to  be  fit,  useful,  agreeable. 
It  had  estimated  the  best  means  of  gaining  it ;  but 
that  it  is  lawful  and  good  in  itself,  or  that  it  is  our 
duty  to  pursue  it  and  our  right  to  attain  it,  this  it  was 
as  yet  unable  to  perceive.  The  right  and  duty  of 
advancing  toward  the  end,  which  is  our  highest  good, 
is  not  revealed  until  we  see  our  end  to  be  an  element 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN  S    MORAL    NATURE.  4o 

of  universal  order,  and  our  good  a  fragment  of  abso- 
lute good.  Our  highest  good  assumes,  then,  its  char- 
acter of  lawful  propriety  and  absolute  goodness  ;  but 
not  our  good  alone — the  good,  the  end  of  every 
creature,  equally  becomes,  to  our  view,  lawful  and 
proper.  Heretofore  we  were  able  to  conceive  that  all 
beings  had  tendencies  to  be  satisfied,  and  that  conse- 
quently this  w,as  as  good  for  them  as  for  ourselves ; 
and,  impelled  by  sympathy,  we  could  desire  instinc- 
tively their  good,  could  find  pleasure  in  doing  so,  and 
thus  include  the  promotion  of  their  happiness  in  our 
calculations  of  self-love.  But  that  it  is  good  and 
proper  in  itself  that  they  should  attain  this  end,  and 
that  this  good,  therefore,  ought  to  appear  in  some  sort 
venerable  and  sacred  to  us,  —  this  reason  could  not 
determine  or  even  conceive  of.  But  when  the  idea 
of  absolute  good  is  once  formed,  what  was  unseen 
before  becomes  clear,  and  the  good  of  others  appears 
to  us  as  sacred  as  our  own  ;  or,  in  other  words,  equally 
an  element  of  that  which  alone  is  venerable  in  itself — 
order.  Thus  the  idea  of  obligation  attaches  itself 
at  one  and  the  same  time  to  the  attainment  of  our  own 
and  others'  good.  And  we  see  no  longer  any  differ- 
ence between  the  duty  of  accomplishing  our  own  good, 
and  of  aiding  other  beings  to  accomplish  theirs ;  both 
are  parts  of  absolute  good ;  and  since  this  is  obligatory 
in  itself,  it  impresses  the  character  of  lawfulness  upon 
them. 

All  duty,  right,  obligation,  and  rules  of  morality, 
spring  from  this  one  source,  the  idea  of  good  in 
itself —  the  idea  of  order.  -  Destroy  this  idea,  and  no 
longer  is  there  any  thing,  sacred  in  itself  to  the  eye 


46  JOUFFROY. 

of  reason;  consequently  nothing  obligatory,  and  no 
moral  difference  between  our  various  ends  and  actions ; 
the  universe  becomes  a  riddle,  and  all  destiny  a  mys- 
tery. But  restore  this  idea,  and  the  universe  and  man 
become  at  once  intelligible ;  an  end  appears  for  all  and 
every  creature  ;  a  sacred  order,  which  every  rational 
being  is  bound  to  respect,  and  to  aid  in  preserving 
within  and  around  it,  is  revealed  to  us,  and  with  it 
duties,  rights,  rules  for  morals,  and  a  natural  code  of 
laws  for  human  conduct.  Such  are  the  changes  in 
human  nature  which  follow  the  conception  of  order,  or 
good  in  itself. 

But  this  idea  of  order,  high  as  it  is,  is  not  the 
final  limit  of  human  thought.  Reason  takes  one  step 
higher,  and  is  elevated  to  the  conception  of  the  God 
who  created  this  universal  order,  and  who  has  given 
to  every  creature  its  constitution,  and  consequently  its 
destiny.  Thus  allied  to  the  Eternal  Being,  order  appears 
no  longer  a  mere  metaphysical  abstraction ;  it  becomes 
the  expression  of  the  thought  of  divinity,  and  morality 
exhibits  its  religious  aspect.  But  even  were  this  not 
seen,  the  obligatory  nature  of  duty  would  still  be  felt. 
If,  supreme  above  order,  reason  had  never  beheld  the 
Deity,  order  would  have  been  as  sacred  ;  for  the  relation 
between  reason  and  the  idea  of  order  exists  indepen- 
dently of  all  religious  convictions.  Only,  then,  when 
God  appears  to  us  as  the  very  essence  and  substance 
of  this  order,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  as  the  will 
which  has  established  it,  the  intelligence  which  con- 
ceived it,  do  religious  and  moral  obedience  become 
united  in  one,  and  order  assume  its  venerable  aspect. 

There  is  yet  another  phenomenon  of  our  nature  to 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  47 

bo  noticed.  From  very  infancy,  and  long  before  reason, 
in  its  development,  has  risen  to  the  idea  of  order,  we 
feel  a  sympathy  for  all  that  has  the  character  of  beauty, 
and  an  antipathy  to  all  that  is  wanting  in  this  beauty. 
A  profound  analysis  shows  that  this  presence  or 
absence  of  beauty  is  only  the  expression  and  material 
symbol  of  order  or  disorder.  These  two  sentiments* 
result,  then,  only  from  a  confused  perception  of  the 
idea  of  order,  and  are  the  effect  of  that  deep  sympathy 
which  unites  all  that  is  elevated  in  our  nature  to  this 
grand  idea.  Later  in  life,  when  we  have  conceived 
this  idea  distinctly,  we  are  able  perfectly  to  explain 
this  instinctive  sentiment  of  love  for  beauty,  and  of  its 
attractive  charm  ;  and  beauty  is  seen  by  us  to  be  one 
face  of  absolute  good.  So  also  is  it  with  truth.  Truth 
k  order  conceived,  as  beauty  is  order  realized.  In 
other  wrords,  absolute  truth  —  the  perfect  truth,  which 
we  imagine  in  the  Deity,  and  of  which  we  only  possess 
fragments  in  ourselves  —  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  any  thing 
more  than  the  eternal  laws  of  that  order  which  all  beings 
tend  to  fulfil,  and  all  rational  beings  are  bound  volun- 
tarily to  advance.  As  this  order,  viewed  as  the  end  of 
creation,  is  absolute  good,  and,  as  expressed  by  the 
symbol  of  creation,  is  beauty,  so,  considered  as  a 
thought  in  the  mind  of  God  or  man,  it  is  truth.  Good, 
beauty,  and  truth,  are,  then,  order  under  three  different 
aspects;  and  order  itself  is  the  thought,  the  will,  the 
development,  the  manifestation  of  God.  But  we  must 
not  lose  ourselves  in  these  lofty  views ;  and  we  resume 
our  subject. 

When  we  have  conceived  the  idea  of  order,  and  of 
the  obligation  we  are  under,  so  far  as  in  us  lies,  to 


48  JOUFFROY. 

fulfil  it,  a  new  mode  of  self-determination,  in  addition 
to  the  two  which  have  at  an  earlier  period  impelled  us, 
appears  —  the  moral  mode.  We  may  be  determined  to 
act,  not  only  by  the  impulse  of  passion,  as  in  the  primitive 
state,  and  by  the  view  of  the  highest  possible  satisfac- 
tion of  these  passions,  as  in  the  state  of  self-love  ;  but 
also  by  the  idea  of  order,  or  good  in  itself,  to  which 
reason  has  attained,  and  which  is  seen  to  be  the  true 
law  of  our  conduct.  And  as  soon  as  this  motive  begins 
to  sway  our  actions,  a  third  and  wholly  distinct  mode 
of  self-determination  is  introduced. 

The  characteristics  of  this  new  mode  are  widely 
different  from  those  of  passion  or  of  self-love,  although 
it  has  this  in  common  with  the  latter,  that  it  can  take 
place  only  in  a  rational  being.  Both  modes  are  thus 
so  plainly  distinguished  from  that  of  passion  that  no 
one  can  fail  to  notice  it. 

As  self-love  and  passion  may  both  impel  us  to  the 
same  acts,  so  self-love  and  the  moral  motive  may 
prescribe  to  us  precisely  the  same  conduct  in  a  mul- 
titude of  cases ;  but  it  is  just  when  they  thus  do 
coincide  that  the  differences  which  distinguish  them 
are  most  clearly  displayed.  Self-love  counsels,  duty 
commands.  The  first  looks  only  to  the  greatest  satis- 
faction of  our  nature,  and  remains  personal  even  while 
prompting  us  to  do  good  to  others ;  the  second  regards 
order  alone,  and  is  forgetful  of  self,  even  while  it 
prescribes  the  search  of  our  own'  good.  We  obey 
ourselves  in  yielding  to  the  former  ;  but  in  obeying  the 
latter,  we  submit  to  something  above  self,  and  which 
has  no  other  character  in  our  eyes  but  that  of  being 
good,  or,  in  other  words,  a  law.  In  the  latter  case, 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      49 

then,  there  is  self-devotion  to  something  not  ourselves, 
while  in  the  first  there  can  be  no  devotion.  The 
devotion  of  a  being  to  something  not  itself,  which 
seems  to  it  good,  is  precisely  what  we  mean  by  virtue 
or  moral  good ;  and  hence  you  see  that  moral  good 
or  virtue  could  never  be  manifested  except  in  a 
mind  which  has  attained  to  the  third  state,  and  that 
it  is  a  phenomenon  peculiar  to  this  mode  of  self- 
determination.  Our  acts  are  moral  whenever  we 
obey,  voluntarily  and  consciously,  a  law  as  the  rule 
of  our  conduct,  and  immoral  whenever  we  disobey  it 
purposely  and  wilfully.  Such  are  moral  good  and 
evil,  strictly  defined.  They  are  entirely  distinct  from 
absolute  good  and  evil,  which  are  order  and  disorder ; 
and  equally  distinct  from  the  kinds  of  good  and  evil 
which  we  call  happiness  or  misery,  and  which  consist 
in  the  accomplishment  of  man's  peculiar  end,  or 
the  fulfilment  of  order  in  relation  to  him. 

This  difference  between  the  moral  mode  of  self- 
determination  and  the  two  others  reappears  in  the 
phenomena  which  follow  this  act  of  choice.  Among 
these  phenomena  is  one  especially  characteristic  of  the 
moral  state.  Whenever  we  comply  with  the  requisi- 
tions of  the  moral  law,  independent  of  all  pleasure 
which  sensibility  experiences,  we  judge  ourselves 
worthy  of  esteem  or  reward;  and,  in  the  opposite 
case,  independent  of  pain,  we  condemn  ourselves 
as  worthy  of  blame  and  punishment.  This  is  called 
the  satisfaction  of  having  done  well,  and  the  pain 
of  having  done  ill,  or  remorse. 

This    judgment    of   merit    or    demerit    necessarily 
follows  every  act  which  has  a  moral  character,  whether 
VOL.  i.  E 


50  JOUFFROY. 

good  or  bad.  It  does  not  and  cannot  follow  the  two 
first  described  modes  of  volition.  When  we  have 
acted  contrary  to  well-understood  self-interest,  we  may 
lament  our  feebleness  and  want  of  skill,  or,  in  the 
opposite  case,  may  congratulate  ourselves  on  our 
prudence,  wisdom,  tact.  But  these  phenomena  are 
quite  distinct  from  moral  approbation  or  disapproba- 
tion. No  one  feels  remorse  for  having  failed  in 
securing  his  interests.  It  is  only  when  self-interest 
is  united  to  the  idea  of  order,  and  when  our  conduct, 
by  losing  a  good,  seems  in  so  doing  to  violate  this 
order,  that  remorse  follows  imprudence.  It  is  a 
consequence  of  this  last  consideration  only,  never 
of  the  first.  I  do  not  condemn,  you  see,  self-interest; 
on  the  contrary,  I  prove  that  it  is  lawful  as  an 
element  of  order,  and  I  make  it  in  many  cases  a 
,  duty.  But  this  character  it  does  not  possess  in  itself; 
it  derives  it  from  absolute  good.  Such  are  the 
phenomena  which  follow  a  moral  action,  whether 
good  or  evil. 

This  outline  would  not  be  complete  without  adding 
two  observations,  which  sum  up  the  whole  matter. 

To  what  end  do  our  primitive  tendencies,  and  the 
passions  arising  from  them,  tend?  To  the  true  end 
of  our  nature,  our  true  good.  How  is  our  conduct 
directed  by  self-interest  well  understood?  To  the 
fullest  possible  realization  of  the  tendencies  of  our 
nature ;  that  is  to  say,  the  most  perfect  accomplishment 
of  our  end  or  good.  What  does  the  law  of  order, 
when  it  finally  appears  in  us,  prescribe  ?  A  respect 
for  absolute  good,  or  order,  and  an  effort  to  realize 
it  completely.  But  our  good  is  an  element  of  absolute 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN?S    MORAL    NATURE.  51 

good,  of  order.  The  law  of  absolute  order,  then, 
commands  the  accomplishment  of  that  very  good 
which  nature  craves  and  self-love  recommends.  True, 
it  is  not  with  a  view  to  ourselves,  but  to  universal 
order,  that  it  commands  this;  true,  it  demands  not 
only  our  own  good,  but  the  good  of  others  also.  But, 
on  the  one  hand,  our  nature  loves  order,  and  in- 
stinctively seeks  the  good  of  others;  and,  on  the 
other,  self-love  shows  us  that  the  enjoyments  of  beauty 
and  of  benevolence  are  two  chief  elements  of  happi- 
ness, and  that  respect  for  the  interests  of  others  and 
for  ortjer  must  enter  into  the  calculations  of  our  own 
private 'interest.  There  is,  then,  no  contradiction, 
but  an  entire  harmony,  between  the  primitive  ten- 
dencies of  our  nature,  self-interest  well  understood, 
and  the  moral  law.  These  three  principles  do  not 
impel  us  in  a  different,  but  in  the  same  direction. 
The  moral  motive  does  not  enter  to  destroy  the  other 
two,  but  to  explain  their  object  and  regulate  their 
course.  Indeed,  how  could  man  direct  himself  aright, 
if  he  was  condemned  to  the  constant  conflicts  which 
some  philosophers  have  imagined,  —  if  he  was  com- 
pelled by  an  obligatory  principle,  conceived  by  the 
reason,  to  sacrifice  continually,  in  order  that  he 
might  be  virtuous,  both  the  impulses  of  natural 
instinct,  and  the  counsels  of  prudence  ?  None  could 
be  virtuous  on  these  conditions.  Most  true,  the  end 
of  virtue  is  distinct  from  that  of  self-love  and  of 
passion;  but  these  ends  are  not  opposed  to  each 
other :  they  are  entirely  in  accordance ;  and  hence 
may  every  virtue  find  an  auxiliary  in  passion  and 
self-interest.  And  hence,  also,  in  very  many  cases, 


52  JOUFFROY. 

instinct  and  self-love  impel  us  to  the  very  course 
which  the  moral  law  requires.  Thus  is  it  with  the 
child,  and  even  with  the  majority  of  men ;  and  it 
is  through  this  agreement  of  passion  and  self-interest 
with  duty  that  societies  subsist.  For,  if  every  act, 
not  performed  with  direct  reference  to  duty,  was, 
on  that  account,  opposed  to  the  moral  law,  and  at 
variance  with  order,  communities  could  not  only  not 
endure,  but  they  would  never  be  even  established. 

We  must  renounce,  then,  these  false  views,  and  look 
at  things  as  they  are.  Reason  only  modifies  man's 
obedience  to  his  passions  and  his  interest,  and  in  this 
manner.  As  reason,  under  the  influence  of  self-love, 
makes  known  to  our  nature  one  general  end,  which  in- 
cludes the  various  ends  of  particular  passions,  and  which 
consequently  deserves  the  preference  —  thus  preventing 
the  former  blind  obedience  of  the  will  to  passion ;  so 
reason,  under  the  influence  of  morality,  reveals,  beyond 
our  private  good,  an  absolute  good,  which  at  once 
comprises  this  and  the  good  of  all  other  beings  also, 
and  which,  therefore,  is  far  to  be  preferred  —  thus 
preventing  the  narrow  and  exclusive  pursuit  of  our 
own  well-being.  And,  as  the  impulse  of  passion 
*was  seen  to  be  of  an  inferior  order,  when  that  of 
self-interest  well  understood  appeared,  so  self-interest 
falls  in  the  scale,  when  the  motive  of-  moral  law 
reveals  itself.  But,  because  the  moral  motive  is 
better  than  self-love,  self-love  is  not  therefore  de- 
stroyed, any  more  than  passion  is  rooted  out  because 
self-interest  is  seen  to  be  superior.  The  desire  and 
pursuit  of  self-interest  still  remain  after  absolute 
good  is  made  known  to  us,  as  the  impulse  of  passion 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      53 

remains  after  self-interest  is  comprehended.  When 
self-love,  therefore,  cannot  see  the  prospect  of  private 
benefit  in  the  course  which  respect  for  absolute  good 
demands,  as  when  passion  is  restrained  from  seeking 
its  end  immediately  by  the  counsels  of  interest,  dis- 
agreement enters  among  the  various  springs  of 
conduct;  and,  though  we  still  see  what  it  is  best 
for  us  to  do,  we  are  not  always  prudent  or  virtuous 
enough  to  do  it.  Behold  what  these  contests  between 
the  three  moving  springs  of  conduct  amount  to ! 
They  are,  in  general,  the  effect  of  the  blindness 
of  passion,  or  of  the  mistakes  of  self-love ;  for,  in 
fact,  it  is  most  for  the  interest  of  passion  to  sacrifice 
itself  to  self-love,  and  most  for  the  interest  of  self-love 
to  sacrifice  itself  to  order. 

Thus  far  I  have  spoken  of  the  three  states  of  the 
moral  nature  in  man,  as  if  they  belonged  to  three  differ- 
ent periods  of  life  —  as  if  they  were  produced  in  us 
successively.  But  this  is  not  exactly  a  true  description, 
and  some  further  explanation  is  needed.  First,  then, 
no  one  of  these  three  modes  of  determination  destroys 
in  its  development  those  previously  in  operation,  but 
only  superadds  i^s  influence  to  them  ;  so  that,  when 
once  called  into  action,  they  henceforth  coexist  And, 
secondly,  as  to  the  order  of  their  appearance,  although 
it  is  true  that  the  passionate  mode  does  precede, 
chronologically,  the  other  two,  and  reigns  supreme 
in  infancy,  it  would  still  be  difficult  to  prove  a  like 
supreme  control  of  the  selfish  and  moral  state  suc- 
cessively. 

Reason  first  shows  itself  at  an  early  period;  but 
no  one  would  be  bold  enough  to  assert  that  she 

E2 


54  JOUFFROY. 

rises  at  once  to  that  high  conception  of  order,  which 
makes  the  moral  law.  Yet  more ;  we  all  know 
that,  in  the  larger  part  of  mankind,  this  conception 
of  the  moral  law  is  never  distinctly  formed  at  all. 
We  are  brought,  therefore,  to  the  conclusion,  that 
there  is  no  morality  in  any  man  until  after  a  certain 
age,  and  that,  in  the  majority  of  men,  there  is  none 
at  any  time.  But  we  must  distinguish  here  a  confused 
from  a  clear  view  of  the  moral  law.  A  confused 
view  of  it  is  contemporaneous  with  the  first  appear- 
ance of  reason  :  it  is  one  of  man's  earliest  concep- 
tions ;  but  in  most  persons  the  conception  remains 
indistinct  through  life,  and  never  becomes  a  vivid 
idea.  Conscience,  as  it  is  called,  is  nothing  mere 
than  this  obscure  notion  of  order ;  and  hence,  in  its 
effects,  it  resembles  less  a  conception  of  the  reason 
than  an  instinct  or  a  sense.  Its  judgments  have 
not  the  appearance  of  being  derived  from  general 
principles  applied  to  cases  as  they  arise;  but  they 
rather  seem  to  result  from  a  kind  of  tact,  which, 
in  each  particular  instance,  makes  it  sensible  of  good 
and  evil.  The  character  of  obligation,  however, 
is  never,  in  the  phenomena  of  conscience,  affected 
by  the  confused  nature  of  our  perceptions  of  good 
and  evil.  However  confused  our  views,  conscience 
still  points  out  good  as  something  which  we  ought 
to  do,  and  evil  as  something  which  we  ought  to 
shun ;  and,  when  we  have  obeyed  or  disobeyed  it, 
we  feel  as  sensibly  self-approval  or  remorse  as  if  we 
had  obeyed  a  more  elevated  conception  and  a  clearer 
idea  of  the  moral  law.  Thus  conscience,  or  the 
confused  view  of  order,  is  sufficient  to  make  men 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  55 

practically  virtuous  or  vicious,  criminals  or  heroes ; 
though  he,  who  conceives  most  distinctly  the  law  and 
its  sacred  obligation,  is  the  most  culpable,  because  he 
transgresses  it  most  consciously.  Not  without  reason, 
then,  does  human  justice  make  distinctions  between 
culprits,  and  apply  punishments  proportioned  in  severity 
to  the  supposed  development  of  intelligence,  and  con- 
sequently to  the  degree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil. 
From  these  details  you  will  see  that  reason,  as  soon 
as  it  is  developed,  introduces  at  one  and  the  same 
time  the  motive  of  self-love  and  of  morality ;  and  thus 
that  these  two  modes  of  self-determination,  which  I 
have  separated  for  the  sake  of  accurate  description, 
are  really  contemporaneous.  On  the  other  hand, 
remember  that  reason  does  not  abolish  the  passionate 
mode,  which  is  supreme  in  infancy.  Dating,  then,  . 
from  the  birth  of  reason,  human  life  is  a  series  of  alter- 
nations from  one  to  the  other  of  these  three  states 
of  the  moral  nature,  according  to  the  degree  in  which 
passion,  self-love,  or  the  moral  law,  gains  sway  over  our 
will,  and  presides  in  our  decisions.  No  period  of  life 
is  free  from  these  alternations.  Men  are  marked  in 
character  by  the  frequency  with  which  one  or  the 
other  of  these  motives  triumphs.  Some  yield  to 
passion  habitually,  and  are  passionate  men ;  others 
follow  interest  well  understood,  and  are  lovers  of  self; 
others  again  obey  the  moral  law,  and  are  virtuous. 
According  to  the  prevalence  in  our  habits  of  mind,  of 
one  or  the  other  of  these  modes  of  choice,  does  man 
assume  a  moral  character.  No  one  obeys,  exclusively 
and  constantly,  one  or  the  other ;  however  strong  the 
habitual  predominance  of  either,  the  other  two  always 


56  JOUFFROY. 

control  some  of  our  volitions.  Yet  more ;  in  far  the 
greater  number  of  cases  all  three  concur  and  cooper- 
ate through  the  force  of  that  harmony  which  funda- 
mentally unites  them ;  and  acts  produced  by  one  or 
the  other  exclusively  are  extremely  rare.  Thus  man 
is  never  wholly  virtuous,  nor  wholly  selfish,  nor  wholly 
passionate ;  and  whichever  spring  may  seem  to  move 
his  conduct,  the  secret  impulse  of  the  others  is  more 
or  less  blended  with  it. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  those  facts  of  man's  moral 
nature  which  I  have  in  former  courses  exhibited  to 
you.  In  the  light  of  these  facts,  you  will  easily  com- 
prehend, I  trust,  the  different  systems  of  moral  phi- 
losophy which  have  denied  the  existence  of  a  law  of 
obligation,  and  you  will  detect  without  difficulty  the 
sources  of  their  different  errors.  But  so  important  is 
it  that  you  should  have  a  clear  understanding  of  the 
psychology  of  man's  moral  nature,  that  I  shall  resume 
the  consideration  of  these  facts  in  my  next  lecture. 


RELIGION.  57 


LECTURE   III. 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

GENTLEMEN, 

As  the  ideas  of  right  and  of  duty  imply  that 
of  law,  and  as  the  idea  of  law  implies  that  of  obliga- 
tion, it  is  plain  that  the  question,  Whether  there  are 
any  rights  or  duties,  returns  to  the  question,  Whether 
there  is  any  law  of  obligation,  or,  to  abridge  the 
expression,  any  law ;  for  the  word  law  necessarily 
carries  with  it  the  idea  of  obligation.  Before  inquiring 
what  our  duties  and  rights  are,  and  in  what  they 
consist,  it  is  indispensable,  then,  first  to  consider  these 
two  questions — "Is  there  a  law  of  obligation  ?  and, 
if  so,  what  is  it?"  It  would  still  have  been  proper 
to  decide  these  questions,  even  if  there  had  never 
existed  philosophers  who  have  replied  to  the  first  in 
the  negative,  or  who,  in  their  attempts  to  answer  the 
second,  have  disagreed  as  to  the  nature  of  this  obliga- 
tory law,  whose  existence  they  yet  recognized.  But 
since  certain  philosophers  have  denied  that  there  is 
any  law  of  obligation,  and  since  those  who  have 
admitted  its  existence  have  given  many  and  diverse 
accounts  of  its  nature,  it  is  evident  that  the  considera- 
tion and  solution  of  these  questions  cannot  be  dispensed 


OS  JOUFFROY. 

with.  For  if  the  philosophers  who  deny  the  existence 
of  the  law  are  right,  we  need  examine  no  further  as  to 
our  duties  and  rights ;  and  we  can  in  no  way  deter- 
mine what  these  rights  and  duties  are,  if,  after  having 
satisfied  ourselves  that  there  is  such  a  law,  we  still 
hesitate  as  to  its  nature,  and  make  no  choice  among 
systems  which  have  arrived  at  different  results,  in  this 
attempt  to  describe  it. 

The  systems  based  on  false  principles  of  ethics  may 
be  divided  into  three  classes.  One  class  maintains 
that  there  can  be  no  law  of  obligation,  while  a  second 
asserts  that  there  really  is  none.  These  two  classes 
deny  the  possibility  of  ethical  science.  A  third  class 
destroys  the  law  by  altering  its  nature  ;  it  comprises  the 
systems  which,  though  they  admit  an  obligatory  law, 
yet  do  not  recognize  it  as  it  is,  but  variously  disfigure 
ii.  The  common  result  of  such  mutilations  is  to  de- 
stroy it;  for  there  can  be  but  .one  law  of  obligation, 
and  every  system  that  substitutes  another,  attributes 
to  this  false  law  the  character  of  obligation,  which, 

O  '  ' 

according  to  the  nature  of  our  minds,  attaches  only  to 
the  true  law.  Thus  in  different  ways  do  these  three 
classes  of  systems  equally  destroy  the  law  of  obliga- 
tion, and  consequently  all  duty  and  all  right  —  the 
whole  science  of  ethics. 

Such,  neither  more  nor  less,  are  the  classes  of  sys- 
tems to  be  examined ;  and,  for  the  purposes  of  this 
examination,  we  must  solve  the  proposed  question  — 
« Is  there  a  law  of  obligation,  and,  if  so,  what  is  it  ? " 

It  cannot  escape  you  that  these  are  questions  of  fact, 
and  not  abstract  ones,  to  be  solved  by  reasoning.  Man 
exists ;  he  chooses ;  he  acts ;  he  is  impelled  by  such 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  59 

and  such  motives.  Among  these  motives  is  there  one 
which  has  the  character  of  a  law?  This  is  the  first 
question.  If  there  is,  What  is  that  motive,  its  nature 
and  character  ?  This  is  the  second.  Both  are  ques- 
tions of  fact. 

Hence  you  will  see,  that  to  answer  these  two  pri- 
mary questions,  on  which  the  whole  science  of  ethics 
depends,  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  to  esti- 
mate rightly  the  truth  of  these  systems,  which  have 
denied  or  disfigured  this  science,  we  must  observe 
the  facts  of  man's  moral  nature;  and  therefore  have  I 
attempted  to  sketch  the  great  outlines,  though  not  the 
details  of  these  facts. 

Such  was  the  single  object  of  my  last  lecture.  I 
owe  you,  before  proceeding  further,  a  short  explanation 
of  the  expression,  the  moral  facts  of  human  nature. 
To  avoid  misapprehension,  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
that  we  should  understand  perfectly  the  expression 
made  use  of,  and  determine  precisely  the  acceptation 
of  the  words. 

There  is  no  morality  in  human  nature,  unless  man  is 
free,  and  subject  to  a  law  of  obligation.  Destroy  duty, 
or  the  possibility  of  directing  ourselves  by  it,  and  you 
destroy  all  morality ;  for  a  conformity  of  the  resolves 
of  the  will  to  the  obligatory  law  of  duty  is  precisely 
what  constitutes  morality.  Other  than  this  there  is 
none.  Thus,  in  its  true  acceptation,  morality  signifies 
the  conformity  of  our  resolves  to  the  law  of  duty. 
When  this  conformity  exists  in  any  act,  the  agent  is 
moral ;  when  it  does  not  exist,  the  act  and  agent  are 
immoral. 

This  is  the  exact  meaning  of  the  word  morality ;  and 


00  JOUFFROV. 

from  this  comes  the  epithet  moral.  It  is  in  a  rather 
more  enlarged  sense,  however,  that  I  call  the  facts 
which  I  have  exhibited  to  you,  moral.  Analogy  seeing 
to  me  to  justify  my  use  of  the  word.  If  there  is  any 
thing  moral  in  human  volitions,  it  will  be  found  in 
the  phenomena  which  precede  and  are  associated  with 
them,  or,  in  other  words,  which  concur  to  produce  them. 
All  these  facts  may,  then,  in  an  enlarged  sense,  be 
called  moral  facts,  inasmuch  as  among  them  are  to  be 
found  those  which  especially  constitute  morality.  In 
my  last  lecture,  I  described,  as  moral  facts,  all  phe- 
nomena in  any  way  connected  with  our  volitions,  not 
limiting  the  application  of  the  term  to  those  which 
constitute,  strictly  speaking,  morality.  And  it  is  in 
this  sense,  as  I  have  now  defined  it,  that  you  will 
please,  then,  to  understand  the  expression. 

And  now,  gentlemen,  after  what  I  have  said  in  the 
commencement  of  this  lecture  as  to  the  impossibility 
of  solving  the  two  questions  —  "  Is  there  a  law  of  obli- 
gation ?  and,  if  so,  what  is  it  ?  "  and  the  equal  impos- 
sibility of  correctly  appreciating  the  systems  which 
have  replied  in  the  negative  to  the  first,  and  wrongly 
answered  the  second,  without  reference  to  the  moral 
facts  of  human  nature,  that  is  to  say,  without  knowing 
how  the  will  is  really  determined  in  man  —  after  this, 
you  will  feel  that  it  is  highly  important  to  comprehend 
clearly  the  whole  process  of  our  volitions,  and  the 
function  of  each  element  which  concurs  to  produce 
them.  Unless  you  keep  this  process  before  your 
minds,  and  comprehend  clearly  all  its  springs,  it  is 
impossible  that  you  should  arrive  at  a  satisfactory 
solution  of  these  questions,  or  a  correct  understanding 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  61 

of  the  systems.  I  wish,  then,  to  go  over  again,  though 
in  a  different  manner,  the  grand  outlines  of  the  picture, 
which  I  have  presented  to  you  in  my  last  lecture. 

When  I  reflect  upon  the  effect  which  my  rapid 
sketch  may  have  produced  on  the  minds  of  those  who 
have  not  attended  my  former  courses,  it  seems  to  me 
a  duty,  if  I  wish  to  be  comprehended,  to  draw  these 
outlines  yet  more  distinctly.  Once  agreed  upon  what 
really  does  pass  within  us  in  the  process  of  volition, 
and  we  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  distinctly  compre- 
hending the  various  systems.  They  will  have  no 
obscurity  for  you.  You  will  see  how,  in  the  real  facts 
of  our  moral  nature,  pretexts  may  be  found  for  each 
and  every  system ;  how  each  and  all  have,  in  some 
way,  mutilated  these  facts ;  and  how,  in  different  ways, 
and  through  various  illusions,  they  arrive  at  erroneous 
results. 

Were  the  principles  of  human  nature  which  concur 
to  produce  our  volitions  all  developed  at  birth,  and 
were  not  some  of  them  delayed,  there  would  be  but 
one  moral  state  for  a  human  soul.  But  as,  among 
these  elements,  there  are  two,  which  are  not  developed 
until  an  advanced  period  of  life,  we  do  not,  upon 
examination,  find  man's  moral  condition  always  the 
same  ;  and  thus  are  we  enabled  to  distinguish  different 
moral  periods. 

Hence,  in  my  last  lecture,  I  was  led  to  describe 
a  first,  second,  and  third  moral  state;  in  other 
words,  three  distinct  modes  of  volition  —  the  primi- 
tive, the  selfish,  'and  the  moral  mode,  properly  so 
called ;  in  which  latter,  the  law  of  obligation,  not 
VOL.  i.  F 


62  JOUFFROY. 

observable  in  the  two  former,  first  makes  its  ap- 
pearance. 

Notwithstanding  the  differences  which  distinguish 
these  three  states  of  the  moral  nature,  their  elements 
are  neither  numerous  nor  difficult  to  seize.  Four 
principles  of  human  nature  alone  concur  to  produce 
them,  and  if  we  can  but  disengage  the  functions 
of  these  different  elements  in  each  of  the  three  states, 
we  shall  gain  a  sufficiently  precise  notion  of  the 
process  of  volition. 

These  four  principles  of  human  nature  are,  the 
instinctive  and  primitive  tendencies,  as  I  have  called 
them;  the  faculties  adapted  to  these;  will,  or  the 
power  of  directing  our  faculties ;  and,  lastly,  reason, 
or  the  power  of  comprehension. 

And  now  I  wish  you  to  see,  clearly,  which  of  these 
principles  are  active  in  each  state,  and  what  are  the 
functions  they  fulfil.  To  this  point,  therefore,  I  now 
once  more  invite  your  attention. 

Human  nature,  having  an  organization  peculiar  to 
itself,  is,  by  this  organization,  destined  to  a  peculiar 
end.  Life  begins  with  the  instinctive  movement 
which  impels  human  nature  towards  its  end.  This 
instinctive  movement  is  not  simple,  but  complex; 
in  other  words,  it  is  made  up  of  several  instinctive 
movements,  each  of  which  has  its  peculiar  object, 
the  aggregate  of  which  objects  forms  the  true  end 
of  man  —  his  highest  good.  These  instinctive  move- 

O  O 

ments  are  developed  in  our  earliest  existence;  for, 
should  a  moment  elapse  between  the  commencement 
of  our  existence  and  their  development,  it  would  be 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      63 

a  moment  when  we  were  existing  indeed,  but  not 
living.  But  man  must  live  as  soon  as  he  exists, 
and  it  is  his  life  to  aspire  towards  his  end.  From 
the  first  moment  of  existence,  we  feel  awakening 
within  us  all  the  instincts  with  which  our  nature 
is  gifted ;  in  other  words,  all  the  desires  which 
result  from  our  organization;  and  these  instincts 
and  desires  seek  blindly  each  its  peculiar  object. 
Such  is  the  action  of  the  instinctive  tendencies  of 
our  nature ;  and  not  for  one  moment  of  existence 
is  this  development,  which  commences  with  life, 
suspended;  it  remains  even  in  sleep;  the  moving 
springs  of  human  activity  are  the  same  whether  we 
sleep  or  wake ;  their  action  is  unintermitted. 

Thus,  as  I  have  said,  are  the  primitive  tendencies 
the  moving  springs  of  our  activity;  they  constitute 
our  moving  force.  In  fact,  it  is  by  them  that  our 
nature  is  prompted,  and  its  faculties  put  in  operation ; 
for  the  final  end  of  the  activity  of  our  faculties  is  the 
satisfaction  of  the  permanent  and  primitive  desires, 
at  once  instinctive  and  blind,  which  manifest  in  the 
form  of  passion  the  cravings  of  our  nature,  explain 
its  characteristic  properties,  and  reveal  the  end  for 
which  it  is  destined. 

It  cannot  be,  then,  that  the  element  of  our  primitive 
and  instinctive  tendencies  should  be  wanting  in  either 
of  the  three  moral  states  described.  It  appears  in  all, 
though  supreme  only  in  the  first. 

Such  is  the  first  of  the  four  principles  which  concur 
in  producing  our  volitions  ;  we  may  call  it  the  main 
spring  —  the  moving  force  within  us. 

The  second  element  or  principle  of  our  nature  which 


64  JOUFFROY. 

influences  our  volition  is  that  to  which  I  have  given 
the  general  name  of  faculties.  Had  the  Creator 
assigned  man  an  end,  and  implanted  an  irresistible 
desire  to  attain  it,  without  having  placed  in  human 
nature  the  faculties  needed  as  instruments  for  its 
satisfaction,  and  fitted  to  realize  the  end,  it  would  have 
been  a  contradiction  of  his  own  work.  There  is  an 
absolute  necessity,  therefore,  that,  beside  the  primitive 
tendencies  impelling  us  to  our  end,  we  should  possess 
certain  faculties  or  instruments  enabling  us  to  gain 
it.  These  faculties  constitute  the  second  of  the 
four  elements  to  which  I  am  now  directing  your 
attention. 

We  must  not  confound  the  faculties  which  are  the 
executive  power  within  us,  with  the  free  will  which 
controls  this  power,  guiding  its  direction.  There  is 
a  period  in  the  life  of  man,  and  perhaps  a  prolonged 
one,  when  there  is  no  sovereign  power  within  him, 
if  I  may  say  so ;  that  is  to  say,  when  the  self-direction 
of  our  faculties,  which  constitutes  liberty,  does  not  as 
yet  exist.  During  the  early  years  of  childhood,  we 
exercise  no  government  at  all  over  our  faculties,  and 
to  those  succeed  others,  when  we  can  hardly  be  said  to 
govern  them.  These  instruments  are  still,  however, 
vitally  acting;  only  they  act  independently  of  us,  or, 
what  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  without  our  will's 
impressing  upon  them  any  direction,  and  under  the 
sole  impulse  of  our  tendencies.  Quite  distinct,  then, 
are  our  faculties,  or  the  executive  force,  as  I  have 
called  it,  from  the  power  of  will,  whose  function  it  is  to 
direct  them.  The  faculties  exist  independently  of  the 
will  in  the  early  period  of  life ;  and  this  independence 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      65 

is   more   or   less  manifested   in   every  era   of  human 
existence. 

The  faculties  of  human  nature  never  sleep  ;  never 
cease  to  act.  As  our  instinctive  tendencies  constantly 
impel  us  to  act,  so  our  faculties  are  always  in  some  sort 
of  movement  and  action.  But  it  is  not  thus  with  the 
will.  Not  only  do  we  not  govern  our  faculties  in  the 
early  period  of  life,  but  we  often  intermit  our  control 
at  all  periods.  Not  seldom  it  happens,  then,  that  even 
in  the  mature  man,  nothing  intervenes  between  the 
passions  which  impel,  and  the  faculties  or  executive 
part  of  our  nature ;  but  the  first  acts  directly  upon 
the  second.  This  phenomenon  occurs  in  many  cases , 
when  strong  passions  appeal  suddenly  to  the  faculties, 
or  when  our  will,  tired  of  its  efforts,  suspends  for  a 
time  its  oversight  and  government.  The  will  is  an 
intermittent  power,  while  the  faculties  act  incessantly 
vvith  various  degrees  of  energy  or  feebleness. 

You  see,  therefore,  that  our  faculties,  or  the  execu- 
tive part  of  our  nature,  like  our  primitive  tendencies, 
are  ever  in  movement ;  but  their  power  may  take  two 
different  directions,  according  as  they  are  acted  upon 
immediately  by  the  passions,  as  in  the  primitive  state, 
or  by  the  will  —  the  sovereign  part  of  our  nature, 
which  is  not  developed  till  later,  and  whose  action, 
even  then,  is  sometimes  intermitted.  Free  will  pre- 
supposes reason,  and  comes  only  with  reason ;  and 
when  these  two  principles  are  introduced  between  the 
instinctive  impulses  of  our  nature  and  our  faculties, 
our  moral  condition  is  wholly  changed. 

It  remains  now  to  be  seen  what  part  these  two  prin- 
ciples act  in  the  process  of  volition  ;  for,  adding  these 

F2 


66  JOUFFROY 

two  principles  to  our  instinctive  impulses  and  to  our 
faculties,  we  have  all  the  elements  which  concur  to 
produce  our  acts  of  will. 

We  do  not  know  d  priori  that  we  are  endowed  with 
the  power  of  governing  and  directing  our  faculties. 
We  are,  indeed,  wholly  ignorant  of  it,  and  we  should 
never  learn  the  fact  without  experience.  In  the  early 
period  of  life  there  are  no  signs  of  our  capacity  of 
self-control.  Our  faculties,  as  I  have  before  said,  are, 
then,  wholly  under  the  direction  of  impulse,  which, 
craving  certain  objects,  and  aspiring  to  certain  ends, 
impels  them  in  the  direction  that  will  gratify  their 
desire  without  our  intervention.  As  one  of  our 
passions  or  another  may  be  strongest,  and  may  sway 
the  others,  so  all  our  faculties  take  the  direction 
which  it  prescribes;  but  the  moment  another,  yet 
stronger,  rises,  our  faculties  quit  their  first  direction, 
and  obediently  follow  a  new  one. 

In  the  conduct  of  children,  this  vacillation  is 
constantly  noticed.  Nothing  is  more  variable  than 
the  relative  force  of  our  different  passions ;  and, 
as  our  faculties  fall  necessarily  under  the  sway  of 
the  strongest,  there  cannot  but  be,  in  the  choice  of 
children,  this  unceasing  fluctuation.  It  manifests 
itself  in  their  looks,  gestures,  thoughts,  and  gives 
them  their  peculiar  charm  and  character.  Yet  in 
this  primitive  life  is  it  that  our  power  over  our  facul- 
ties is  first  revealed,  and  in  the  manner  described  in 
my  last  lecture,  which  I  will  now  recapitulate. 

Whatever  the  object  towards  which  instinctive 
tendency  impels  us,  and  which  our  faculties  are 
constrained  to  seek,  it  cannot  be  obtained  without 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      67 

difficulty;  always  some  obstacle  prevents  the  imme- 
diate gratification  of  the  passion.  What  then  ?  Our 
faculties,  finding  themselves  made  powerless  by  this 
obstacle,  concentrate  themselves  spontaneously  to 
overcome  it ;  or,  in  other  words,  their  united  power 
is  brought  to  bear  on  this  one  point,  where  thev 
have  encountered  resistance. 

Hence  is  the  revelation  of  our  power  of  control 
over  our  faculties.  When,  in  the  depths  of  our 
nature,  we  become  conscious  that  our  diffused  powers 
are  uniting  and  concentrating  upon  a  single  point, 
we  feel  at  the  same  time  that  we  can  at  will  reproduce 
and  repeat  that  concentration.  Feeling  that  we  have 
this  power,  we  exercise  it,  and  our  sovereign  force, 
our  will,  appears.  Experience  has  revealed  to  us 
our  power ;  but  for  this  we  should  never  have 
learned  it. 

Tn  the  primitive  state,  which  I  have  been  describing, 
the  power  of  the  will  then  first  shows  itself.  But 
this  power,  not  being  directed  by  the  reason,  which 
as  yet  has  not  awakened,  produces  only  transient 
and  slight  effects.  When  passion  demands  eagerly 
its  satisfaction,  and  our  faculties  find  difficulties  in 
obtaining  it,  then  do  our  powers  concentrate  them- 
selves. But  when  a  yet  stronger  passion  summons 
our  faculties,  or  when  the  obstacle  in  the  way 
demands  fatiguing  exertion  for  its  removal,  the 
spring  is  relaxed,  and  concentration  ceases.  In  other 
words,  will,  being  as  yet  only  instinctive,  and  having 
no  rational  motive  on  which  to  rely,  is  uncertain 
and  vacillating;  it  can  endure  but  little;  its  efforts 


C8  JOUFFROY. 

are  small;  it  does  scarcely  more  than  show  itself; 
and,  that  it  may  be  developed  and  produce  great 
results,  reason  must  come  to  its  aid. 

Here,  then,  are  three  principles  concurring  to 
produce  volition;  —  first,  the  motive  power,  or  the 
primitive  tendencies  of  our  nature;  second,  the 
executive  power,  or  our  faculties;  third,  the  govern- 
ing power,  or  the  will,  that  is  to  say,  the  power 
of  directing  our  faculties. 

A  fourth  principle  is  that  which  I  call  reason,  or 
the  power  of  comprehension. 

I  have  said,  gentlemen,  that,  when  reason  first 
appears,  it  finds  in  us  the  three  other  principles 
already  active.  From  the  first  moment  of  existence, 
man  is  conscious  of  desires,  instincts,  and  passions, 
developing  within  him ;  his  faculties  begin  to  act 
under  the  impulse  of  his  desires,  and,  whenever 
they  encounter  resistance,  are  concentrated  sponta- 
neously—  thus  betraying,  by  their  involuntary  action, 
the  fact  that  they  may  be  governed.  But,  thus  far, 
they  have  been  combated  only  by  the  passions ; 
they  have  been  enslaved  by  the  strongest  impulse ; 
nothing  has  modified  or  limited  the  empire  of  the 
instincts  over  them.  When  reason  appears,  this 
slavery  ceases;  for  in  place  of  an  impulse  of  passion 
is  substituted,  not  a  new  impulse,  but  —  observe  tne 
word,  which  in  all  languages  is  the  same-1 — a  motive. 
Heretofore,  our  actions  have  been  determined  by  a 
blind  and  mechanical  impulse;  but,  from  the  moment 
when  reason  appears,  whether  it  gives  counsel  or 
imposes  laws,  man  acts  from  a  motive.  A  new 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN's  MORAL  NATURE.       69 

principle  comes  in  to  take  part  in,  and  modify,  the 
process  of  volition.  The  operation  of  this  principle 
1  will  now  proceed  to  show. 

Reason  does  two  things.  In  the  first  place,  ob- 
serving what  passes  within  us,  it  comprehends 
that  all  our  tendencies,  as  they  develop,  demand 
satisfaction ;  and,  generalizing  the  idea  of  this  satis- 
faction, it  comprehends  that  this  is  our  good.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  remarks  that,  when  abandoned 
to  itself,  our  nature  succeeds  but  ill  in  attaining 
the  highest  possible  satisfaction  of  our  instincts ; 
both  because  it  obeys  all  the  various  impulses  of  our 
passions,  and  because  it  does  not  persevere  sufficiently 
in  the  effort  to  satisfy  them.  Reason  must  introduce 
rules,  then,  into  the  conduct  of  our  faculties,  by 
ascertaining  the  supreme  end  which  they  should  seek, 
and  the  way  in  which  they  should  proceed  to  reach 
it.  This  reason  does;  on  the  one  side  it  rises 
to  the  idea  of  self-interest  well  understood,  and,  on 
the  other,  judges  of  the  conduct  most  proper  to 
realize  it.  In  view  of  this  end  proposed  for  its 
attainment,  and  of  the  course  to  be  pursued,  the 
will  prepares  to  act,  sets  free  our  faculties  from  the 
mechanical  impulse  of  our  tendencies,  and  governs 
them.  Motive  takes  the  place  of  impulse,  rule 
succeeds  to  force,  and  our  conduct,  from  being 
passionate,  blind,  instinctive,  as  it  was  at  first, 
becomes  deliberate  and  rational. 

Such  is  the  first  result  of  the  appearance  of  reason 
in  the  process  of  volition. 

It  is  plain,  that,  if  reason  had  no  other  function 
than  thus  to  comprehend  the  end  of  our  tendencies, 


70  JOUFFROY. 

and  to  decide  upon  the  best  mode  of  accomplishing 
it,  there  would  be  no  law  of  obligation  for  us.  We 
do  not  feel  ourselves  obliged  to  satisfy  our  passions. 
When  reason  places  before  us  as  an  end  the  greatest 
satisfaction  of  our  tendencies,  it  counsels  our  self- 
interest  to  obtain  this  satisfaction ;  but  its  advice 
has  not  an  obligatory  character.  In  other  words, 
interest  well  understood,  as  estimated  by  reason,  is 
nothing  but  the  satisfaction  of  our  tendencies;  and 
never  does  self-interest,  to  any  mind,  come  clothed 
in  the  character  of  obligation.  Self-interest  is  not, 
indeed,  a  mechanical  impulse  of  passion.  It  is  a 
motive;  but  it  is  not  a  law. 

Reason,  however,  does  not  stop  at  this  point  of 
self-interest.  It  goes  further,  and  introduces  a 
second  rational  element  into  our  volition.  This 
second  motive  is  the  idea  of  good.  Interest  well 
understood  is  the  conception  of  the  good  or  well- 
being  of  the  individual,  but  not  of  good  in  itself, 
absolute  good.  When  reason  first  perceives  that, 
as  there  is  a  good  for  us,  so  is  there  for  all  creatures 
whatsoever,  and  that  thus  the  particular  good  of  each 
creature  is  but  an  element  of  universal  order,  of 
absolute  good,  then  does  the  idea  of  good,  so  dis- 
engaged and  elevated  to  the  sphere  of  absolute  being, 
appear  to  our  reason  as  obligatory.  A  new  motive 
to  action,  a  new  principle  of  conduct,  is  revealed 
and  introduced.  This  principle  is  an  obligatory 
one  —  a  law.  Unless  this  principle  did  thus  appear, 
unless  iMs  idea  did  become  thus  disengaged  in  our 
minds  by  the  effort  of  reason,  the  word  morality 
would  have  no  meaning;  there  would  be  no  duties, 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN*S    MORAL    NATURE.  71 

no  rights;  the  science  of  ethics  would  be  a  vain 
pursuit ;  and  our  whole  object  in  life  would  be  to 
pursue  the  course  of  conduct  best  fitted  to  realize 
interest  well  understood."  When  I  examine  the 
opinions  of  those  who  assert  that  this  selfish  principle 
is  the  ultimate  and  final  one,  I  at  once  see  that  it 
is  impossible  to  deduce  from  self-interest  any  duty 
towards  other  beings.  We  cannot,  in  fact,  refer  to 
the  idea  of  personal  good  an  element  which  it  does 
not  include  —  the  idea  of  the  good  of  others;  neither 
can  we  explain  by  it  the  motive  which  impels  us  to 
seek  it. 

You  see,  then,  that  four  principles  of  our  nature 
cooperate  to  produce  our  volitions.  You  see  that, 
because  two  of  these  principles,  the  will  and  reason, 
are  developed  late,  and  because  reason  itself  has 
two  separate  states,  there  are  in  human  life  different 
and  distinct  moral  periods. 

During  the  first  of  these,  but  two  principles  are 
active  —  the  tendencies  of  our  nature,  or  the  moving 
power,  and  the  faculties,  or  the  executive  power.  In 
this  period,  impulse  acts  directly  upon  our  faculties, 
and  the  latter  cannot  escape  its  influence. 

At  a  later  period,  the  empire  over  self  commences, 
yet  later  becoming  as  strong  as  we  could  wish ;  and 
then,  between  our  impulses  and  our  faculties,  comes 
in  a  power  which  .controls  the  latter,  and  forbids 
them  to  yield  to  passion  without  its  consent.  But 
that  this  power,  which  is  the  will,  may  be  able  to 
refuse  its  consent  to  passionate  impulse,  it  must  have 
support.  And  it  finds  this  support  in  a  fourth  prin- 


72  JOUFFROY. 

ciple,  which  now  enters ;  namely,  a  motive  or  reason 
for  acting,  which  is  riot  an  impulse. 

Reason  is  the  source  of  this  new  element,  thus 
introduced  into  the  process  of  volition.  But  there 
are  two  motives  successively  brought  in  by  reason. 
The  first  is  only  a  general  idea,  a  summary  of  all 
which  the  various  tendencies  of  our  nature  desire, 
having  no  authority  but  theirs,  and  directing  them 
only  because  it  comprehends  their  end,  and  knows 
the  best  means  to  satisfy  them.  Interest  well  under- 
stood is  the  first  motive  that  aids  the  will  in  gaining 
supreme  control,  by  giving  it  support  against  the 
purely  mechanical  impulse  of  passion. 

The  second  motive  introduced  by  reason,  or  the 
second  support  afforded  by  it  to  the  will,  is  much 
stronger.  It  is  the  idea  of  good  in  itself,  an  idea 
which  is  not  the  interest  well  understood  of  our 
impulses,  the  end  of  our  instinctive  tendencies,  but 
an  end,  an  interest,  entirely  impersonal,  the  universal 
end  of  the  creation  —  absolute  good,  or  order.  It 
is  only  such  an  idea,  such  an  end,  such  a  good, 
that  can  have  an  obligatory  character ;  for  that 
which  is  personal,  not  being  superior  to  the  person, 
cannot  in  any  way  oblige  him.  The  idea  of  law 
implies  something  exterior  and  superior  to  the  person, 
something  universal,  which  comprehends  and  controls 
the  individual.  Such  is  the  idea  of  absolute  good, 
or  of  universal  order,  to  which  reason  ascends,  and 
which  appears  to  it  instantly  as  a  legitimate  and 
obligatory  motive.  Henceforth,  the  will  is  not  only 
aided  to  resist  the  mechanical  impulse  of  passion 


THE    FACTS    OP    MAN?S    MORAL    NATURE.  73 

by  interest  well  understood,  but,  resting  on  this  idea, 
finds  support  in  another  yet  more  comprehensive 
and  powerful  motive,  even  that  of  producing  good 
within  and  around  us,  of  completing  and  reverencing 
order  in  the  development  of  our  own  arid  other 
natures.  In  this  idea  of  good  is  comprehended  that 
of  our  own  and  others'  good ;  and  the  realizing 
of  these  two  kinds  of  good  becomes  obligatory,  ca 
the  common  ground  that  each  is  an  element  of  ordei. 
or  of  that  absolute  good  which  is  obligatory.  Thu? 
the  good  of  another  becomes  an  element  in  the 
determination  of  our  volitions,  and  even  our  own 
good  assumes  a  character  of  impersonality  which 
it  had  not  before.  When  the  will  finds  this  new 
source  of  strength,  it  not  only  becomes  more  power- 
ful against  mechanical  impulse,  but  escapes  altogether, 
if  it  chooses,  from  all  motives  of  a  personal  nature. 
Morality  now  becomes  possible ;  for  the  condition 
of  all  morality,  which  is  to  act  from  a  motive  or 
impersonal  idea,  or  a  law,  is  given;  but,  before  this 
time,  morality  has  had  no  existence  whatever. 

Arid  now,  gentlemen,  unless  I  have  succeeded  very 
ill  in  analyzing  the  complex  phenomenon  of  human 
volition,  you  must  clearly  comprehend  both  its  ele- 
ments and  its  operation.  Such  is  the  phenomenon 
in  its  threefold  aspect.  I  have  copied  these  outlines 
faithfully,  I  trust,  from  the  facts  of  human  conscious- 
ness; and,  if  the  picture  is  not  perfect  in  details, 
it  is  yet  true,  I  am  confident,  in  its  main  features 
and  general  air. 

But  whether  we  yield  to  the  impulse  of  passion  and 
instinct,  or  act  from  the  motive  of  self-interest,  or 
VOL.  i.  G 


74  JOUFFROY. 

finally  obey  the  idea  of  good,  we  meet  constantly  with 
obstacles  between  ourselves  and  our  end,  which  can 
never  in  this  life  be  wholly  surmounted.  Hence,  in 
every  possible  situation,  a  perpetual  conflict  is  waged 
between  our  nature  and  surrounding  circumstances; 
and  this  is  the  fundamental  characteristic  of  the  con- 
dition of  humanity. 

But,  independently  of  this  fundamental  conflict, 
which  is  renewed  in  every  possible  moral  period,  each 
period  has  a  conflict  peculiar  to  itself.  In  the  primi- 
tive state,  where  two  principles  of  our  nature  only 
exercise  their  functions,  —  on  the  one  side  our  tenden- 
cies, and  on  the  other  our  faculties,  —  there  is  a  conflict 
between  the  different  tendencies  of  our  nature ;  when 
one  has  supreme  sway,  it  oppresses  the  others,  while 
these  in  turn  rise  to  power  and  subdue  the  first.  A 
violent  and  perpetual  strife  goes  on  of  necessity  among 
our  different  tendencies ;  for  each  is  exacting  and 
exclusive,  and  often  can  be  satisfied  only  by  the 
sacrifice  of  the  others. 

In  the  period  of  self-love,  not  only  is  there  a  contest 
between  our  different  passions,  but  yet  another  between 
our  passions  and  the  motive  of  self-interest.  For  we 
cannot  direct  ourselves  according  to  the  rules  of  self- 
interest,  except  by  constraining  and  repressing  the 
natural  action  of  our  different  passions.  Each  moment 
must  we  sacrifice  the  strongest  passion  to  a  weaker 
one  —  a  present  passion  to  a  future  one,  and  this  for 
the  sake  of  our  greatest  interest,  or  an  idea  of  our 
reason.  There  is,  then,  in  the  selfish  state,  a  contest 
of  motives  against  impulses ;  and  we  cannot  sacrifice 
.  one  to  the  other,  without  regretting  it,  if  it  is  the 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    JMO 


motive  which  is  abandoned  ;  without  pain,  if  it  is  tho 
passion. 

In  the  third,  or  moral  period,  properly  so  called, 
both  these  conflicts  are  continued,  and  a  third  com- 
mences between  self-interest  or  personal  good,  and 
duty  or  absolute  good.  In  a  multitude  of  cases  we 
must  sacrifice  self-interest  to  good  in  itself;  and  in 
whatever  way  we  may  decide  to  act,  we  suffer  either 
remorse,  if  we  are  influenced  by  the  thought  of  per- 
sonal good,  or  regret,  if  we  sacrifice  well-being  to 
duty.  The  very  root  of  all  these  conflicts  is  the  fun- 
damental one  of  man  against  nature.  Were  it  not  for 
this,  the  secondary  conflicts  would  not  arise  at  all  ;  but 
this  is  produced  from  the  very  nature  of  things,  and 
from  it  spring  the  others. 

Thus  the  province  of  moral  volition  is,  if  I  may  say 
so,  a  battle-field,  where  eternal  war  is  waged.  These 
combats  make  up  our  life  itself,  with  all  its  varied 
griefs,  and  its  grand  fundamental  evil,  the  strife  of 
man  with  what  is  not  himself.  And  yet,  gentlemen, 
there  is,  nevertheless,  beneath  all  this,  the  profouridest 
unity  and  harmony;  and  now,  having  described  thf 
discord  and  strife  of  our  nature,  I  will  explain  to  you 
its  accordance  and  peace. 

Is  it  not  true,  then,  that  if  we  had  the  power  of 
always  directing  ourselves  according  to  the  rule  of  self- 
interest,  supposing  this  rule  to  have  been  perfectly 
estimated  by  reason,  is  it  not  true  that  the  attainments 
of  such  self-interest  would  comprehend  and  include 
the  greatest  possible  satisfaction  of  all  our  tendencies, 
that  is  to  say,  of  all  our  passions?  Of  this  there  can 
oe  no  doubt;  for  whenever  we  prefer  the  rule  of 


76  JOUFFROY. 

interest,  well  understood,  to  the  mechanical  impulse 
of  passion,  it  is  for  the  interests  of  passion  itself,  for  the 
interests  of  our  true  well-being,  therefore,  and  our 
greatest  good.  Thus,  in  yielding  to  the  selfish  motive, 
so  far  from  sacrificing  the  passions,  we  do  really  serve 
them ;  in  obeying  it,  we  in  fact  obey  our  passions,  that 
is  to  say,  the  tendencies  of  our  nature  ;  and  the  satis- 
faction of  one  implies  the  satisfaction  of  the  others. 
There  is,  then,  a  harmony  between  our  tendencies  and 
the  calculations  of  self-interest. 

Experience  proves  that  there  is  a  like  deep  har- 
mony between  obedience  to  the  law  of  duty  and  self- 
interest.  Long  has  it  been  since  philosophers,  who 
admitted  in  principle  the  law  of  duty,  in  order  to 
conciliate  those  over  whom  the  considerations  of  self- 
interest  exercised  great  power,  have  demonstrated,  by 
experience  and  reasoning,  that  the  best  mode  of  being 
happy  is  to  be  faithful,  in  every  case,  to  the  law  of  duty. 
Arid,  on  the  other  hand,  it  has  been  long  since  those 
who  have  misconceived  the  nature  of  the  law  of  duty 
have  endeavored  to  explain  it  to  such  as  denied  it,  by 
showing  that  the  very  conduct  which  men  of  elevated 
intelligence  and  consummate  experience  had  deter- 
mined to  be  for  man's  true  self-interest,  is  precisely 
that  which  the  moral  law  prescribes.  Thus  the  parti- 
sans of  self-interest,  and  those  of  the  law  of  duty,  have 
both  agreed  in  recognizing  the  profound  and  ultimate 
agreement  which  there  is  between  the  counsels  of  the 
one  and  the  rules  of  the  other.  And,  in  fact,  it  is 
impossible  that  it  should  be  otherwise  ;  for  what  does 
the  law  of  duty  advise  ?  Its  wish  is,  that  we  should 
fulfil  our  own  destiny,  and  yet  not  hinder,  but  rather 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN?S  MORAL  NATURE.       77 

aid  others  in  fulfilling  theirs.  Now,  this  is  just  what 
our  passions  demand.  Our  passions  are  not  all  per- 
sonal ;  they  have  not  all  for  their  object  our  private 
good;  but  we  have  also  sympathetic,  benevolent 
passions,  which  have  for  their  end  the  good  of  others. 
When  the  good  of  others,  then,  is  not  attained  — 
when  others  suffer  —  we  suffer  with  them.  Thus,  when 
the  emotion  of  pity  arises  in  my  heart,  if  the  object 
of  it  is  not  solaced,  I  suffer ;  I  too  am  unhappy. 
When  I  experience  sympathy  for  a  person  —  lively  sym- 
pathy —  if  that  person  is  unhappy,  I  suffer  also,  as  with 
a  grief  of  my  own.  Many  of  our  primitive  tendencies, 
then,  aspire  to  the  good  of  others  and  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  destiny,  as  a  final  end.  Self-interest 
includes,  then,  as  a  condition  of  our  own  good,  the 
good  of  others.  From  all  this  you  may  see  how 
profound  is  the  harmony  between  the  conduct  which 
the  law  of  duty,  or  the  idea  of  absolute  good,  prescribes, 
and  that  recommended  by  enlightened  self-interest,  or 
the  idea  of  personal  good.  And  thus,  as  self-interest 
coincides  with  the  satisfaction  of  our  instinctive  ten- 
dencies, it  follows  that  each  of  the  three  motives 
implies  the  others,  and  that,  notwithstanding  conflicts 
on  the  surface,  there  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  perfect 
fundamental  accordance.  But,  because  they  agree, 
they  are  not  the  less  distinct ;  neither  is  it  a  matter 
of  indifference  which  shall  be  obeyed.  If  you  yield  to 
passions,  you  debase  yourself  to  the  level  of  the  brutes, 
for  this  is  peculiarly  their  mode  of  volition.  The 
nature  of  animals,  like  the  nature  of  man,  impels 
them  to  their  end.  They  have,  like  ourselves,  facul- 
ties by  which  to  attain  it;  but  no  motive  ever  inter- 
as 


78  JOUFFROY. 

poses  itself  between  the  mechanical  impulse  of  their 
desires  and  the  faculties  with  which  they  are  endowed 
for  their  satisfaction.  When  man  yields  to  passion, 
then  his  mode  of  volition  is  wholly  animal ;  and  so 
long  as  he  acts  in  this  manner  is  his  life  that  of  the 
brute.  It  is  only  when  he  rises  to  the  idea  of  self- 
interest,  that  he  becomes  a  rational  being;  then  he 
calculates  the  consequences  of  conduct,  and  becomes 
master  of  his  faculties;  he  subjects  them  to  a  plan 
which  he  has  marked  out,  and  is  now  a  man,  though 
not  yet  a  moral  man  ;  he  becomes  a  moral  being  when 
he  abandons  this  idea  of  personal  good  for  that  of 
absolute  good  ;  then  he  is  moral,  for  he  obeys  a  law; 
he  rises  now  as  much  above  the  selfish  state,  as  before 
he  had  done  above  the  animal  state  ;  and,  in  a  word, 
the  phenomena  of  moral  good  and  evil,  for  the  first 
time,  appear,  and  with  them  all  that  makes  the  glory 
and  the  greatness  of  our  nature. 

And  now  let  us  take  a  rapid  review  of  what  has 
been  said  of  the  different  kinds  of  good,  and  thus  fix, 
in  a  precise  manner,  our  notions  of  them  ;  for  distinct 
notions  on  this  subject  are  indispensable  to  a  right 
understanding  of  all  that  is  to  follow. 

I  have  told  you,  gentlemen,  that  good  for  man,  as 
for  every  other  creature  whatsoever,  is  the  accomplish 
ment  of  his  destiny  ;  that  his  nature  commands  him  for 
ever  to  aspire  and  tend  toward  this  ;  that  it  is  this  which 
alone  can  satisfy  the  instinctive  passions.  My  nature 
is  intelligent ;  knowledge,  then,  is  a  good  for  me.  My 
nature  is  sympathetic  ;  the  happiness  of  others,  then,  is 
a  good  for  me.  Suppose  that  a  being  has  neither  intel- 
ligence nor  sympathy;  then  knowledge  and  the  welfare 


THE    FACTS    OF    MAN'S    MORAL    NATURE.  79 

of  another  would  not  be  good  to  him.  His  nature  does 
not  seek  them ;  they  do  not  enter,  as  elements,  into 
the  final  end  of  his  being ;  for  they  are  not  adapted 
to  wants  of  his  constitution.  Understand,  then,  what 
I  mean  by  real  good ;  you  can  determine  what  it  is 
for  any  being  when  you  have  comprehended  his  nature, 
and  learned  what  his  nature  craves. 

Whenever  I  obtain  my  real  good,  I  experience  a 
sensible  good,  that  is  to  say,  pleasure.  Here  is  a 
second  kind  of  good,  wholly  distinct  from  the  former ; 
and,  to  produce  it,  two  conditions  must  be  fulfilled. 
First,  the  being  must  be  sensitive;  and,  secondly, 
something  which  is  a  real  good  for  that  being  must 
be  attained.  Agreeable  sensations,  pleasure,  sensible 
^ood,  is  a  consequence,  effect,  and  sign  of  real  good. 
Such  is  sensible  good,  or,  as  we  usually  call  it, 
\appiness. 

Finally,  there  is  a  third  kind  of  good,  which  as 
eculiarly  belongs  to  moral  beings  as  happiness  does 
o  sensitive  beings;  it  is  moral  good.  When  my 
'easo^  has  discovered  an  obligatory  motive  —  that  is 
to  say,  a  law  —  and  my  will  conforms  to  that  law, 
then  do  I  experience  moral  good;  and  when,  on  the 
contrary,  it  violates  that  law,  I  experience  moral  evil. 
Moral  good,  then,  is  nothing  else  than  a  conformity 
of  the  volitions  of  a  reasonable  being  to  the  law 
of  obligation  which  reason  prescribes.  When  I  act 
from  enlightened  self-interest  merely,  there  is  neither 
moral  good  nor  evil,  except  in  so  far  as  I  consciously 
violate  some  commandment  of  the  moral  law. 

Such  are  the  three  kinds  of  good  and  evil.     You 
see,  now,  the  fundamental  distinctions   between   real 


80  JOUFFROY. 

good  and  evil,  sensible  good  and  evil,  moral  good 
and  evil,  and  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  each. 
Human  nature  is  an  impenetrable  mystery  to  him 
who  has  not  separated  and  distinguished  three  things 
so  entirely  distinct;  and  the  explanation  of  false 
systems  and  erroneous  doctrines  is  to  be  found  in 
men's  having  confounded  them. 

Into  each  of  the  three  states  which  I  have  described, 
real  good  and  evil,  and,  consequently,  sensible  good 
and  evil,  enter ;  but  to  the  third  alone  is  moral 
good  confined.  I  will  recall  to  your  minds,  in 
passing,  the  fact  that  moral  good  and  evil  produce 
a  sensible  effect,  as  well  as  real  good  and  evil ;  or, 
in  other  words,  that  we  cannot  obey  a  moral  law, 
without  experiencing,  from  that  obedience,  pleasure ; 
and  cannot  disobey  a  moral  law,  without,  as  a  con 
sequence,  suffering  pain.  Let  me  add  that,  as  this 
pleasure  and  pain  are  accompanied  by  a  judgment 
of  the  reason,  —  which  says  to  the  agent  not  only, 
"Thou  hast  done  well  or  ill,"  but  also,  "Thou  art 
worthy  or  unworthy,"  —  they  are  the  most  vivid 
which  human  sensibility  is  capable  of  feeling. 

It  results  from  this  analysis,  that  sensible  good  and 
evil  could  not  exist  without  the  other  kinds  of  good, 
and  also  that  moral  good  and  evil  could  not  exist 
without  real  good  and  evil ;  for  if  we  had  no  end, 
we  could  have  no  law.  Real  good  is,  then,  the 
condition  of  all  good  for  us ;  real  evil,  the  condition 
of  all  evil.  It  is  accompanied  by  sensible  good,  if  the 
being  is  sensitive ;  by  moral  good,  if  he  is  rational. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  principal  facts  of  our 
moral  nature. 


THE  FACTS  OF  MAN'S  MORAL  NATURE.      81 

After  what  has  now  been  said,  you  can  easily 
comprehend  how  a  person,  in  surveying  the  rules 
of  human  conduct,  may  allow  some  of  the  facts 
of  our  nature  to  escape  him.  You  can  comprehend, 
for  example,  how  a  man  may  overlook  the  fact  that, 
independently  of  sensible  impulse  and  enlightened 
self-interest,  reason  perceives  an  obligatory  law  as 
a  motive  to  action.  Admitting  that  a  philosopher 
has  fallen  into  this  error,  the  moral  period  that  I 
have  described  is  not  a  real  one  to  him.  Miscon- 
ceiving the  facts  of  our  nature,  he  mutilates  them 
in  his  system,  and  can  come  but  to  the  one  conclusion, 
that  there  is  no  law  of  obligation.  You  can  com- 
prehend, also,  how,  without  entire  ignorance  of  this 
third  mode  of  volition,  a  man  may  yet  form  an 
incomplete  and  inaccurate  notion  of  it,  and  thus 
substitute  for  the  true  law  some  other,  and  thus, 
by  deforming,  destroy  it.  You  can  comprehend, 
finally,  how  a  philosopher  may  form  to  himself  such 
an  idea  of  the  nature  of  things,  or  of  man,  as  to 
make  him  think  it  impossible,  a  priori,  that  man 
should  be  subject  to  a  law  of  obligation,  and  there- 
fore useless  to  search  among  the  phenomena  of  his 
nature  for  such  a  law.  Thus,  for  example,  Hobbes, 
not  believing  in  the  freedom  of  the  will,  ought, 
d  priori,  to  have  declared  it  impossible  that  there 
should  be  a  law  of  obligation,  had  he  reasoned  strictly. 
Thus,  too,  Spinoza,  considering  all  things  as  necessary 
because  emanating  from  God,  whose  being  and  acts 
are  necessary,  should  have  denied,  from  the  high 
ground  of  his  system,  the  possibility  of  duty,  or 
rules,  or  law,  for  man. 


82  JOUFFROY. 

There  are  three  ways,  therefore,  in  which  the 
law  of  obligation,  which  is  the  foundation  of  ethics, 
may  be  denied;  first,  by  asserting,  a  priori,  and 
as  a  necessary  consequence,  from  a  high  principle, 
that  the  existence  of  such  a  law  is  impossible; 
secondly,  by  overlooking,  in  the  analysis  of  the 
moral  facts  of  human  nature,  the  very  facts  in 
which  this  law  is  manifested;  and,  lastly,  by  mu- 
tilating the  facts,  although  recognizing  them ;  thus 
substituting  a  false  law  of  obligation  for  the  true  one. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  pronounce  judgment 
upon  these  systems ;  for  we  are  acquainted  with 
what  really  passes  within  us.  I  believe  that  the 
description  I  have  given  you  is  faithful,  although 
it  may  have  been  rudely  expressed;  for  I  confess 
to  you  I  experience  great  difficulty  whenever  I  at- 
tempt to  describe  in  words  these  phenomena  of  our 
nature.  Words  and  phrases  suggest  to  the  mind 
images  so  little  resembling  the  phenomena  of  which 
we  are  conscious,  that  all  description  seems  feeble 
and  imperfect.  No  one  feels  this  more  deeply  than 
I  do ;  and  yet,  gentlemen,  I  believe  that  the  sketch 
which  I  have  drawn  is,  in  the  main,  correct.  At 
least,  what  I  have  said  will  enable  you  to  com- 
prehend how  incomplete  views  of  the  moral  facts 
of  our  nature  have  given  rise  to  various  systems; 
and  still,  how  these  various  systems,  taken  together; 
bear  witness  to  the  real  existence  of  all  these  facts ; 
for,  though  each  system  may  exhibit  only  one  part 
while  neglecting  another,  yet,  together,  they  present 
a  complete  picture  of  our  nature. 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY 


LECTURE   IV. 

SYSTEMS  WHICH  IMPLY  THE  IMPOSSIBILITY  OF  A  LAW  OP 
OBLIGATION. 

SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY. 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  a  former  lecture,  I  have  told  you  that 
the  philosophical  systems  which,  in  their  principles, 
are  destructive  of  ethical  science,  may  be  divided 
into  three  classes:  first,  those  which,  from  reasons 
independent  of  the  consideration  of  moral  phenom- 
ena, deny  that  there  can  be  a  law  of  obligation  for 
man;  second,  those  which,  having  sought  for  this 
law  by  an  examination  and  analysis  of  moral  phe- 
nomena, declare  that  they  have  not  discovered  it ; 
and,  lastly,  those  which,  though  professing  to  have 
found  it,  have  yet  mistaken  its  nature,  and  which, 
variously  disfiguring  it,  have  substituted,  for  such 
a  law  of  obligation  as  reason  recognizes,  a  false 
law,  more  or  less  altered  from  the  true  one,  and 
implying  no  obligation. 

Such  are  the  three  kinds  of  systems,  which,  directly 
or  indirectly,  destroy  all  right  and  all  duty,  and, 
consequently,  the  whole  science  of  ethics. 

Having,    in    my    last    two    lectures,    presented    a 


81  JOUFFROY. 

picture  of  the  different  facts  which  enter  into  the 
process  of  volition,  I  am  now  prepared  —  these  facts 
having  been  stated  —  to  examine  the  three  classes 
of  systems  which  I  have  pointed  out.  And  I  will 
begin  with  those  which  deny  that  there  can  be  a 
law  of  obligation. 

There  are  four  chief  systems,  which,  as  a  necessary 
and  immediate  consequence  of  their  principles,  deny 
the  possibility  of  a  law  of  obligation,  and,  conse- 
quently, that  there  can  be  any  rights  or  duties  in  a 
proper  sense.  These  are  pantheism,  mysticism,  skep- 
ticism, and  finally,  systems  denying  the  freedom  of 
the  will. 

My  design  is,  to  take  a  survey  of  these  four  sys- 
tems ;  and,  by  a  refutation  of  their  principles,  to 
escape  their  consequence,  that  is  to  say,  their  denial 
of  the  possibility  of  ethical  science. 

But  before  entering  into  a  detailed  examination  of 
these  four  systems,  it  may  be  well  to  point  out,  in  a 
few  words,  the  way  in  which  they  each  arrive  at  this 
common  result. 

It  is  evident,  in  the  first  place,  that  there  can  be  no 
law  of  obligation  for  a  being  who  is  not  free ;  for  it 
would  be  a  contradiction  in  terms,  to  say  that  any 
obligation  could  rest  upon  a  being  whose  actions  are 
determined  by  necessity.  It  is  needless  to  develop  so 
plain  a  truth  ;  you  will  comprehend  at  once,  that  any 
system  which  denies  human  liberty,  does,  in  so  doing, 
deny  that  there  is  or  can  be  any  law  of  obligayon. 

This  is  equally  true,  in  my  opinion,  of  all  systems 
of  pantheism ;  whose  doctrine  is,  that  there  is  but 
one  being,  self-existent,  necessary,  whom  pantheists, 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  85 

equally  with  deists,  call  God.  If  there  is  but  one 
being,  there  can  be  nothing  in  the  universe  but 
different  modes  of  his  existence.  Men,  all  things 
animate  or  inanimate,  which  make  up  the  creation,  are 
only  various  modes  and  different  manifestations  of  this 
one  being;  all  causality  is,  therefore,  in  him;  there- 
fore no  causality  exists  in  his  creatures ;  and  where 
there  is  no  causality,  of  course  there  is  no  free- 
will. 

The  consequence,  then,  of  every  pantheistic  system, 
is  the  denial  of  all  free-will  in  the  creation,  and  of 
course  in  man.  It  is  only  through  an  inconsistency, 
therefore,  that  some  pantheists  have  believed  that  they 
could  recognize  these  two  things ;  and  have  professed 
the  twofold  doctrine  of  the  unity  of  being  (which  is 
the  first  principle  of  pantheism)  and  of  human  liberty. 

As  to  the  skeptical  systems,  they  are  of  two  kinds. 
The  one  class  deny  that  certainty  in  knowledge  is 
possible,  on  the  ground  that  human  opinions  are  every 
where  contradictory  ;  the  other  class,  passing  by  this 
contradictory  character  of  human  opinions  as  a  matter 
open  for  debate,  question  whether  what  appears  to  us 
truth  is  really  truth  in  itself,  for  the  reason  that  the 
perceptions  and  conceptions  of  our  intelligence  result 
from  the  very  organization  of  that  intelligence.  They 
assert  that  we  cannot  prove  that,  if  we  had  been 
differently  organized,  our  views  and  conceptions  would 
not  have  been  different  from  those  which  we  now  have, 
or  that  what  now  appears  to  us  true,  might  not  then 
have  seemed  false,  and  vice  versa. 

Such  are  the  two  forms  of  skepticism;  and  both  one 

VOL.    I.  H 


86 


JOUFFROY. 


and  the  other  lead  to  the  same  result — that  man  can 
be  certain  of  nothing.  If  this  is  so,  then,  when  we 
believe  that  we  see,  in  a  conception  of  our  reason,  a 
practical  obligation  to  conform  our  conduct  to  it,  this 
view  may  be  as  uncertain  as  any  other,  and  we  cannot 
put  faith  in  it.  It  is,  then,  a  matter  of  doubt  whether 
we  are  obliged  to  do  any  thing  whatsoever,  and  whether 
that  which  we  call  good  or  ill  is  really  so.  It  is  quite 
a  matter  of  indifference,  then,  whether  we  respect  this 
obligation  or  not. 

Every  system  of  skepticism,  from  whatever  principle 
it  originates,  necessarily  ends  in  throwing  doubt  over 
every  idea  of  obligation,  and  consequently  in  a  denial 
of  human  obligation. 

Mysticism  yet  remains  to  be  considered.  I  admit 
that  there  are  various  kinds  of  mysticism.  But  there 
is  one  chief  mystical  system,  which  is  the  source  of  all 
others :  its  leading  principle  is,  that  man  cannot,  in 
this  world,  attain  his  end;  that  he  is,  whatever  he  may 
attempt,  powerless  for  good ;  and  that,  therefore,  the 
only  thing  for  him  to  do  is  to  wait  till  the  obstacles 
which  impede  him  are  removed,  and  till  the  human 
soul,  set  free  from  its  present  bonds,  be  transported 
into  such  another  order  of  things  as  will  permit  him 
to  accomplish  his  destiny.  For  one  who  thinks  thus, 
all  action  appears  absurd,  and  a  passive  state  is  the 
only  reasonable  one.  Let  man  await  the  time  when 
the  hand  of  God  shall  deliver  him  from  the  bondage 
of  his  present  condition  ;  then  will  there  be  a  sphere 
for  action ;  but  until  then  let  him  live  passive,  leave 
things  to  take  care  of  themselves,  and  abandon  himself 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  87 

to  the  current  of  fate.  Any  other  course  of  conduct 
would  be  an  inconsistency ;  and  the  existence  of  any 
obligation,  therefore,  is  impossible. 

Thus  you  see  how  the  four  systems  of  necessity, 
pantheism,  skepticism,  and  mysticism,  equally  deny 
that  there  can  be  any  law  of  obligation  for  man. 

After  this  summary  review,  I  will  now  proceed  to 
take  up  these  systems  successively,  in  order  that  we 
may  examine  more  in  detail  the  foundations  upon 
which  they  rest ;  and,  by  showing  you  the  falseness 
of  the  principle,  I  shall  attempt  to  destroy  the  conse- 
quences which  have  been  drawn  from  them.  Let  us 
begin  with  the  system  of  necessity. 

The  number  of  philosophers  who  have  thought  that 
man  is  not  a  free  being,  is  very  great ;  but  they  have 
not  all  arrived  at  their  conclusion  in  the  same  way. 
They  have  professed  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  in  view 
of  different  principles,  and  through  various  courses 
of  reasoning.  The  common  characteristic  among 
these  systems  of  necessity,  by  which  they  must  be 
classified,  is,  as  I  have  shown,  that  they  all  end  in 
denying  the  possibility  of  any  law  of  obligation. 

I  will  describe  the  different  reasons  which  have  led 
philosophers  to  this  strange  denial  of  human  liberty, 
and  will  endeavor  briefly  to  refute  them  in  succession. 
You  can  readily  see  that,  as  my  wish  is  to  come  as 
soon  as  possible  to  a  positive  exposition  of  the  laws  of 
human  conduct,  I  cannot  give  much  time  to  a  descrip- 
tion or  a  refutation  of  these  doctrines.  As  I  am 
addressing  myself  to  an  intelligent  audience,  and  as 
the  system  of  necessity  is  in  evident  contradiction  to 
the  universal  faith  and  the  acknowledged  facts  of 


88  JOUFFROY. 

human  nature,  a  simple  description  of  its  leading 
traits  will  enable  me  to  refute  the  reasonings  of  its 
advocates. 

The  first  mode  of  denying  human  liberty  which  1 
shall  describe,  is  one  which  overlooks  our  true  liberty, 
and  substitutes  a  fictitious  one.  This  is  what  has  been 
done  by  Hobbes.  Hobbes  confined  himself  to  that 
signification  of  the  word  liberty ',  in  which  we  all 
employ  it,  when  we  say  of  a  man  who  was  just  now 
chained,  but  is  set  free,  that  he  is  at  liberty.  When 
a  man  is  chained,  he  can  will  any  act,  but  he  cannot 
execute  his  will.  The  constraint  is  not  on  his  power 
of  willing,  but  on  his  power  of  acting.  In  a  word, 
action,  which  naturally  and  immediately  follows  voli- 
tion, is,  for  the  time,  impossible. 

Hobbes  understands  by  liberty,  the  power  of  doing 
what  we  will ;  and  well  may  he  say,  therefore,  that 
human  liberty  is  limited ;  for  it  is  evident  enough  that 
we  can  will  a  multitude  of  things  which  we  cannot 
possibly  execute.  Within  the  limits  of  what  we  can 
possibly  do,  we  are  free ;  but  no  further.  This  is 
liberty,  as  Hobbes  has  defined  it ;  and  he  asserts  that 
there  is  and  can  be  no  other. 

To  support  such  a  doctrine,  is  to  deny,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  that  man  is  a  free  being.  If  by  liberty 
is  understood  an  absence  of  any  such  external  con- 
straint as  prevents  the  exercise  of  any  power  within 
the  natural  limits  of  that  power,  then  every  being 
endowed  with  any  power  whatsoever  is  equally  free 
with  man ;  animals  are  free ;  vegetative  force  is  free  , 
rivers  as  they  run,  winds  as  they  blow,  are  free. 
Now,  this,  evidently,  is  not  what  we  mean  by  the 


SYSTEM    OP    NECESSITY.  89 

freedom  of  any  power.  The  question  of  liberty  or 
necessity  turns  altogether  upon  the  mode  in  which  any 
power  is  determined  in  its  action ;  not  upon  the  fact 
that  there  are  limits,  wider  or  narrower,  to  its  exercise. 
In  such  a  sense  of  the  word,  no  part  of  our  nature  is 
less  free  than  the  power  of  acting.  In  truth,  the 
necessary  law  of  our  being  is,  that  a  resolve  of  the 
will,  when  directed  to  what  can  possibly  be  accom- 
plished, should  be  immediately  followed  by  the  act 
which  executes  it,  and  realizes  the  intent  of  the  will. 
There  is  a  necessary  connection  between  willing  and 
acting,  if  the  thing  willed  can  be  done.  If,  then,  by 
liberty  is  meant  the  power  of  doing  what  we  will, 
liberty  is  ascribed  to  a  power,  whose  very  characteristic 
is  necessary  action.  For  the  act,  by  which  we  fulfil 
a  resolve,  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  that  volition. 
If,  then,  Hobbes,  supposing  that  he  thereby  preserves 
the  freedom  of  the  will,  demonstrates  or  thinks  that  he 
demonstrates  to  his  own  mind,  that  the  will  has  no 
liberty  to  form  what  resolves  it  chooses,  but  that  all 
its  resolves  are  determined  by  necessity,  you  can 
readily  comprehend  how,  by  thus  denying  liberty  where 
it  really  exists,  and  admitting  it  where  it  does  not,  he 
does  actually  destroy  it  altogether. 

I  trust  that  you  have  a  clear  conception  of  this 
system.  There  is  but  one  answer  to  it.  Hobbes  has 
placed  our  freedom  where  it  does  not  exist,  where  we 
are  not  conscious  of  it ;  where,  on  the  contrary,  we 
are  perfectly  conscious  of  necessity.  If  it  is  true  that, 
in  common  language,  we  do  use  the  word  liberty 
sometimes  to  denote  our  power  of  doing  what  we 
purpose,  it  is  merely  to  describe  a  state  opposed  to 


90  JOUFFROY. 

that  in  which  the  power  of  acting  is  for  the  moment 
suspended  by  external  constraint.  Tt  is  in  this  sense 
only  that  we,  by  analogy,  call  this  state  a  state  of 
liberty.  But  when  we  enter  into  ourselves,  we  feel 
clearly,  that  the  necessary  consequence  of  every  re- 
solve, when  that  resolve  is  directed  to  any  thing 
within  our  power,  is  the  act  putting  that  resolve  in 
execution ;  and  that  in  this  part  of  our  nature  there  is, 
therefore,  no  liberty.  If  it  sometimes  does  happen 
that,  after  having  willed  an  act,  we  yet  do  not  perform 
it,  observe,  it  is  always  because  in  place  of  that  first 
resolve  is  substituted  an  opposite  one,  destroying  it ; 
so  that  doing  the  act  or  refraining  from  it,  are  im- 
mediate, necessary,  plain  consequences  of  the  last 
resolve  we  form.  Wherein,  then,  does  our  liberty 
really  consist  1  In  our  power  of  forming  resolves. 
When  we  make  a  resolution,  is  it  only  the  necessary 
consequence  of  some  previous  processes  in  our  minds  ? 
or  does  it  arise  from  the  power  which  we  have  of 
forming  this  or  that  resolve,  just  as  we  choose,  after 
having  considered  whether  it  is  right  or  wrong,  expe- 
dient or  inexpedient,  pleasant  or  painful?  This  is  the 
question,  and  the  real  point  to  be  discussed. 

Another  system,  equally  denying  human  liberty,  has 
arisen  from  a  different  confusion  of  language.  It  is 
the  system  of  Hume.  Consider  for  a  moment  this 
philosopher's  idea  of  a  cause,  in  which,  by  the  way, 
may  be  found  the  very  basis  of  his  skepticism. 

As  you  well  know,  it  is  the  object  of  students 
of  physical  science,  of  medical  men  and  chemists,  of 
all  who  seek  to  discover  the  laws  of  nature,  to  deter- 
mine the  circumstances  which  constantly  precede  the 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  91 

appearance  of  any  phenomenon  or  effect.  When  these 
circumstances  are  determined,  a  law  of  nature  is 
discovered ;  and  we  can  draw  from  the  knowledge 
of  this  law  many  important  rules  for  conduct.  We 
are  taught  by  it,  that,  whenever  the  circumstances 
o.:cur,  this  event  will  follow;  and,  conversely,  that 
whenever  it  does  happen,  these  circumstances  have 
preceded  it.  This  is  of  great  importance  in  determin- 
ing the  direction  of  our  actions,  and  gives  man  im 
mense  advantage  over  the  blind  forces  of  nature.  As 
we  never  can  reach  beyond  ourselves  to  a  perception 
of  the  true  cause  of  any  effect,  because  out  of  ourselves 
these  causes  are  invisible,  we  are  limited  to  a  statement 
of  the  circumstances  which  have  constantly  preceded  the 
phenomenon,  instead  of  seeking  for  the  causes  which 
have  really  produced  it ;  and  as,  in  the  minds  of  students 
of  physical  science,  the  efficient  and  unknown  cause 
which  produces  a  phenomenon  is  not  confounded  with 
the  circumstances  which  have  been  observed  to  precede 
and  accompany  it,  for  convenience  and  brevity  we  are 
accustomed  to  say  that  these  circumstances  are  the 
cause.  The  assertion  of  Hume  is,  that  we  have  no 
other  idea  of  a  cause  than  this ;  and  he  supports  his 
assumption  thus:  — 

All  our  knowledge,  according  to  Hume,  originates 
in  experience.  If  this  is  admitted,  he  must  go  on  to 
explain,  by  experience  alone,  the  formation  of  all  the 
notions  which  are  found  in  human  intelligence;  the 
idea  of  cause  is  one.  Hume  is  bound  to  explain  how 
this  idea  has  entered  the  mind,  whether  from  the  senses 
or  from  consciousness.  Now,  as  it  is  a  fact  that  the 
senses  can  never  reach  beyond  phenomena  to  causes, 


92 

and  as  Hume  thinks  that  consciousness  also  can  pei  • 
ceive  phenomena  only,  it  is  plain  that,  if  this  meta- 
physical doctrine  is  once  adopted,  it  becomes  impos- 
sible to  explain  the  true  notion  of  a  cause,  such  as 
we  find  it  in  our  rninds. 

But  there  is  a  sense  of  the  word  cause  before 
referred  to,  which  this  system  is  competent  to  explain. 
Though  consciousness  and  sensation  can  never  per- 
ceive causes,  still,  according  to  Hume,  they  can  at 
least  perceive  the  circumstances  which  have  preceded 
the  appearance  of  any  effect.  Meeting  with  this 
sense  of  the  word,  explicable  by  his  system,  Hume 
adopts  it ;  and,  being  unable  to  account  for  any 
other  idea  expressed  by  the  word  according  to  his 
hypothesis,  he  declares  that  this  is  the  only  notion 
which  the  word  cause  really  represents  to  the  human 
mind.  Thus,  for  Hume,  a  cause  is  merely  the 
aggregate  of  circumstances  constantly  preceding  in 
nature  the  production  of  any  effect. 

This  being  so,  it  is  perfectly  plain  that  nobody 
can  in  any  case  be  entirely  sure  of  what  is  the 
cause  of  any  effect  Hume  remarks,  in  fact,  and 
with  much  reason,  that,  however  constant  may  be 
the  concurrence  of  certain  circumstances  with  a 
fact,  reason  always  distinctly  comprehends  that  a 
possible  case  may  arise,  where  this  concurrence  will 
cease,  and  where,  consequently,  what  now  seems  to 
us  the  cause  will  cease.  This  is  one  reason  why 
we  can  never  be  certain  that  what  we  call  the  cause 
of  a  phenomenon  is  the  true  cause. 

In  the  next  place,  Hume  remarks,  and  with  as  good 
reason,  that  observation  cannot  detect,  among  the  cir- 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  93 

cumstances  which  constantly  precede  the  appearance 
of  a  phenomenon,  the  efficient  force  which  has 
produced  it.  We  see,  in  fact,  certain  circumstances; 
•vTe  see,  next,  a  phenomenon:  but  the  assumed  fact 
of  the  production  of  this  phenomenon  by  the  circum- 
stances which  precede  it  escapes  us  entirely ;  and, 
if  it  always  thus  escapes  us,  we  have  no  means 
of  knowing  whether  it  really  happens.  Thus  the 
idea  of  causation  as  commonly  understood,  or,  what 
comes  to  the  same  thing,  the  idea  of  the  production 
of  an  effect  by  a  cause,  is  and  can  only  be  an 
illusion  of  the  human  mind.  The  idea  of  concur- 
rence observed  between  two  facts,  —  this,  according 
to  Hume,  is  what  the  idea  of  causation  in  our  minds 
really  reduces  itself  to.  Any  thing  more  is  an  illusion 
and  prejudice.  Consequently,  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  cause,  in  the  common  sense  of  that  word ;  and, 
consequently,  no  such  thing  as  an  effect.  There 
is  nothing  more  in  nature  than  a  recurrence  of 
phenomena,  which  precede  and  follow  each  other 
with  some  degree  of  constancy,  but  which  in  no 
case  should  be  considered  by  us  as  eternal  or  ne- 
t'.ssary. 

You  see  that  the  necessary  consequence  of  such 
a  doctrine  is  to  destroy  such  ideas  of  cause  and 
effect,  and  of  their  relation,  as  exist  in  the  minds 
of  all  men;  and  that,  therefore,  any  consideration 
of  the  question  whether  human  causality,  or  the  me, 
is  free  or  not,  is  vain  and  idle.  We  may  well  discuss 
the  question,  if  we  consider  human  causality  a  true 
cause,  really  producing  the  acts  which  the  man 
performs.  But,  if  we  assume  that  the  causality  of 


94  JOUFFROY. 

this  me  is  an  illusion,  the  question  becomes  absurd ; 
for  it  amounts  to  this :  Is  an  efficient  cause,  which 
has  no  existence,  free  or  not  free?  Hume  does  not 
admit  the  consideration  of  this  question  of  human 
liberty  at  all,  then ;  to  him  it  is  only  trifling  and 
foolish.  I  speak  here  of  his  metaphysics  only ;  for, 
as  to  his  moral  philosophy,  it  is,  like  that  of  many 
other  philosophers,  —  and  like  that  of  Spinoza  even, 
the  most  strict  and  logical  mind  of  modern  times,  — 
at  variance  with  his  metaphysical  system.  To  con- 
ceive it  possible  that  there  can  be  any  morality  at 
all,  we  must  admit,  in  the  outset,  and  first  of  all, 
the  very  thing  which  Hume's  metaphysics  deny, 
namely,  that  we  are  causes.  For,  destroy  this  first 
and  indispensable  consideration,  and  it  evidently 
becomes  most  absurd  to  inquire  what  the  laws  of 
human  action  should  be,  or  what  conduct  should  be 
recommended  for  man  to  pursue. 

Such,  gentlemen,  in  a  few  words,  is  the  meta- 
physical doctrine  of  Hume.  It  can  be  answered 
in  a  most  simple  way,  by  saying  that  the  human 
mind  has  ideas  of  cause  and  effect,  and  of  their 
relation,  which  are  wholly  irreconcilable  with  it. 
The  system  of  Hume,  therefore,  which  pretends  to 
explain  all  our  ideas,  is  false. 

A  second  reply  to  Hume  is  yet  more  direct.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  we  feel  that  we  are  the  cause  of 
the  acts  which  we  produce.  Thus,  when  I  walk, 
I  feel  that  I  cause  the  motion  of  my  limbs ;  when 
I  think,  when  I  fix  my  attention,  when  I  reflect, 
I  feel  that  I  cause  these  acts  of  thought,  attention, 
and  reflection,  which  I  perform.  It  is  true  that  we 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  95 

have  no  idea  of  cause,  if  consciousness  perceives 
nothing  more  within  us  than  sensation  does  in  that ; 
for  it  is  certain  that,  out  of  ourselves,  we  cannot  go 
beyond  phenomena  —  we  cannot  reach  to  causes. 
But,  when  we  attend  not  to  what  passes  without, 
but  to  what  passes  within,  we  discover  in  ourselves, 
by  consciousness,  a  cause,  which  does  produce  affects ; 
and  we  have,  whenever  we  experience  this  inward 
feeling,  the  feeling  of  cause,  the  feeling  of  effect, 
and  the  feeling  of  the  production  of  the  effect  by 
the  cause.  Thus,  for  example,  when  I  pay  attention, 
I  have  the  feeling  of  the  me,  which  pays  attention, — 
of  the  phenomenon  of  attention  thence  resulting, — 
and,  finally,  I  feel  that  it  is  I,  myself,  who,  as  the 
cause,  have  produced  this  effect  of  attention.  It  is 
clear  that  a  system,  which  denies  all  these  facts, 
cannot  explain  the  idea  of  cause.  But,  to  conclude 
from  this  that  the  idea  does  not  exist  in  the  human 
mind,  is  to  submit  the  mind  to  the  laws  of  a  false 
system,  which  philosophy  has  invented.  The  mine* 
has  the  idea  of  cause ;  and  for  this  reason,  that 
it  experiences  in  itself  the  feeling  of  a  cause  which 
does  produce  effects. 

If  only  such  opinions  as  these,  which  I  have 
now  refuted,  had  been  brought  against  the  faith 
in  human  freedom,  the  question  would  never  have 
been  seriously  agitated  by  many  minds.  We  must 
renounce  the  most  familiar  notions  of  good  sense 
and  experience,  before  we  can  admit  these  opinions 
of  Hume  and  Hobbes  which  I  have  described ;  and, 
therefore,  they  are  only  partially  dangerous.  The 
strongest  objections  against  human  liberty  come  from 


96  JOUFFROY. 

a  system  whose  leading  principle  is  wholly  different. 
This  system  is  complicated  enough ;  that  is,  it  opposes 
many  objections  to  the  doctrine  of  human  liberty. 
These  objections,  however,  are  all  connected  with 
one  main  idea,  which  is  this  —  that  the  motives  from 
which  the  will  makes  up  its  volitions,  really  constrain 
the  \rill  to  choose,  and  consequently  destroy  its 
freedom;  in  other  words,  the  doctrine  which  I  am 
now  about  to  exhibit  to  you  does  not  admit  that 
man  is  a  free  being,  because  it  thinks  that  acts  of 
will  are,  in  every  case  whatsoever,  the  necessary 
effect  of  motives  preceding  the  volition. 

The  principal  propositions  of  the  supporters  of 
this  system  are  as  follows :  In  the  first  place,  they 
assert,  as  a  fact,  that  every  volition  has  a  motive. 
In  the  second  place,  they  say  that,  if  the  motive 
which  acts  upon  the  will  is  a  simple  and  single  one, 
the  motive  will  necessarily  determine  it ;  but,  if  there 
are  several  motives  operating  at  the  same  time,  the 
strongest  will  determine  it.  Such,  gentlemen,  is  the 
argument  of  the  friends  of  this  system.  To  point 
out  the  fallacy  of  such  reasoning,  we  must  take  up 
and  answer  separately  its  different  assumptions. 

Perhaps  one  might,  with  Reid,  deny  the  fact  that 
all  the  resolves  of  the  will  have  a  motive.  Reid 
states  facts  to  support  this  position.  He  says  that 
we  often  form  trifling  resolves  without  the  slightest 
consciousness  of  having  any  motive ;  and,  to  the 
objection  immediately  raised,  that  the  motive  has 
acted  insensibly  on  the  will,  he  answers,  that  it  is 
not  then  a  motive,  as  a  motive  is  a  reason  for  acting, 
conceived  beforehand,  and  acting  on  the  will.  A 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  97 

motive  which  is  not  conceived  of,  that  is  to  say, 
of  which  I  have  no  consciousness,  says  Reid,  is  as 
if  it  was  no  motive  —  as  if  it  did  not  exist.  It  .'s 
a  contradiction,  then,  to  say  that  a  motive  has  acted 
on  my  will,  and  yet  that  I  have  been  unconscious  of 
it.  Again,  says  Reid,  I  am  placed  in  situations 
where  different  means  to  a  certain  end  present  them- 
selves—  means  which  will  equally  conduct  me  to  it; 
now,  if,  in  such  a  case,  I  select  one  rather  than  the 
others,  it  is  without  any  motive  whatsoever.  For 
example,  I  owe  a  guinea  to  a  person  who  has  come 
for  payment,  and  there  are  in  my  purse  twenty 
guineas;  why  do  I  select  one  rather  than  another? 
Reid  asserts  that  there  is  in  such  a  case  no  motive 
whatever.  He  acknowledges  that  such  actions  are 
of  no  importance  in  a  moral  point  of  view.  But 
he  remarks  that  the  question  is  simply  to  know 
whether  it  is  possible  that  the  will  should  ever  make 
a  choice  without  any  motive ;  arid,  if  any  such  in- 
stances can  be  brought  forward,  however  few  or 
trifling,  we  may  still  answer  the  question  in  the 
affirmative. 

These  are  subtle  trains  of  reasoning,  and  different 
minds  will  form  different  opinions  as  to  their  im- 
portance. For  myself,  I  leave  aside  this  discussion, 
and  prefer,  in  a  consideration  of  the  subject  which 
must  be  very  rapid,  to  limit  myself  to  decisive 
arguments. 

I  will  admit,  then,  at  the  outset,  that  we  never 
do  act  without  a  motive.  This  being  granted,  the 
question  resolves  itself  into  this :  Is  a  motive  some- 
thing which  constrains  or  compels  rny  volition? 

VOL.    I.  I 


98  JOUFFROY. 

Now,  in  my  opinion,  this  assumed  constraint  is 
contradicted  by  experience,  and  by  our  feeling  of 
what  passes  within  us  when  we  form  a  purpose. 
In  fact,  if  there  is  one  familiar  feeling,  of  which 
we  are  distinctly  and  vividly  conscious,  it  surely  is 
that  which  we  experience  when  we  make  a  choice. 
Whatever  the  force  of  the  motive  which  we  obey, 
we  yet  perceive  a  wide  distinction  between  the  in- 
fluence of  this  motive  and  any  thing  which  can 
be  called  constraint.  Indeed,  we  feel  distinctly  that, 
in  yielding  to  this  motive,  that  is  to  say,  in  resolving 
in  conformity  with  it,  we  are  entirely  able  not  to 
form  this  resolve.  If,  for  instance,  when  standing 
at  a  window,  I  determine  not  to  throw  myself  into 
the  street,  I  feel  that  it  depends  wholly  upon  myself 
to  form  an  opposite  determination ;  only  I  say  I 
should  then  be  a  fool ;  and,  being  rational,  I  remain 
where  I  am.  But  that  I  am  free  to  be  a  fool,  and 
to  throw  myself  down,  is  to  me  most  evident.  If 
any  of  my  audience  are  capable  of  confounding  in 
their  minds  the  fact,  that  a  billiard-ball  on  a  table 
is  put  in  motion  by  a  stroke,  with  the  fact,  that 
a  volition  is  produced  in  my  mind  when  I  seek  to 
know  what  is  my  reasonable  course  of  conduct,  and 
think  I  discover  it,  —  if  there  are  any  here,  who 
can  see  a  similarity  between  the  action  of  one  ball 
on  another,  and  the  influence  of  a  motive  on  my 
volition,  —  then  have  I  nothing  more  to  say.  But 
no  one  can  imagine  a  similarity  between  the  two ;  at 
least,  no  one,  who  has  not  taken  sides  on  the  question, 
and  given  up  his  mind  to  some  system,  of  which  it 
is  a  consequence  that  some  necessity  must  control 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  99 

our  volition  and  acts,  can  confound  two  facts  in 
their  nature  so  dissimilar  as  the  action  of  one  ball 
upon  another,  and  the  influence  of  a  motive  on  the 
determinations  of  my  will.  The  law,  that  every 
motion  in  material  bodies  is  proportioned  to  the 
moving  force  which  produced  it,  supposes  a  fact; 
namely,  the  inertia  of  matter.  To  apply  this  law 
to  the  relation  which  subsists  between  the  resolutions 
of  my  will,  and  the  motives  which  act  upon  it,  is 
to  suppose  that  my  being,  that  I,  myself,  am  not  a 
cause;  for  a  cause  is  something  which  produces  an 
act  by  its  own  proper  power.  That  which  is  inert 
is  not  a  cause ;  it  may  receive  and  transmit  an 
impulse,  but  it  cannot  originate  it.  Are  we,  or  are 
we  not,  a  cause?  Have  we,  or  have  we  not,  a 
power  in  ourselves  of  producing  certain  acts?  It 
would  seem  necessary  for  us  to  decide  this  question, 
before  we  can  rightly  apply  the  law  of  external 
phenomena  to  internal  operations.  Admitting,  then, 
that  every  volition  has  a  motive,  as  the  advocate 
of  the  scheme  of  necessity  asserts,  —  admitting  even 
with  him,  that,  whenever  the  will  is  addressed  b) 
only  one  motive,  its  volitions  are  always  in  conformity 
with  it,  —  it  by  no  means  follows  that  this  proves 
the  truth  of  his  system.  It  proves  only  this,  that 
our  will  forms  no  volition  without  a  reason  for  forming 
it;  and  that,  when  there  is  but  one  reason  to  be 
considered,  it  wills  accordingly.  But  it  by  no  means 
follows,  that,  whenever  our  will  yields  to  a  reason, 
it  is  compelled  to  do  so  by  that  reason.  The  whole 
question,  —  and  I  beg  you  again  to  remark  it,  — 
depends  upon  a  fact  which  you  must  determine  — 


100  JOUFFROV. 

upon  the  fact  whether  you  know  that  the  influence, 
which  the  motive  exercises  over  the  will,  is  a  con- 
straining force  or  not.  For  myself,  I  say  that  my 
inward  feeling  answers  in  the  negative ;  and  that, 
under  the  influence  of  all  motives,  I  retain,  in  every 
case,  a  distinct  consciousness  of  a  power  of  acting 
in  opposition  to  what  they  advise  and  direct.  I  can 
admit,  then,  without  difficulty,  the  two  first  propo- 
sitions of  the  advocates  of  necessity.  They  prove 
nothing  against  the  liberty  of  the  will. 

But  I  should  not  neglect  to  inform  you,  that  Reid 
disputes  the  second  of  these  propositions  as  he  did 
the  first,  and  does  not  admit,  even  in  those  cases 
in  which  only  one  motive  addresses  itself  to  our  will, 
that  we  always  decide  conformably  to  the  motive. 
He  draws  an  argument  from  common  language,  and 
asks  whether  we  have  not  such  words  as  caprice, 
obstinacy,  wilfulncss,  and  whether  they  have  no 
meaning.  And  what  do  they  mean,  if  not  that  we 
resolve,  at  any  given  moment,  in  spite  of,  and  in 
opposition  to,  all  motives  then  acting  on  our  will  ? 
These  words  bear  witness  to  the  fact  that  sometimes, 
under  the  influence  of  a  single  motive,  we  do  not  form 
any  volition,  or  do  not  will  conformably  to  the  motive. 
But  I  repeat,  I  have  not  the  time  to  enter  into  these 
arguments  of  secondary  importance ;  I  limit  myself  to 
the  statement  of  direct  and  decisive  reasonings. 

Let  us  pass  now,  gentlemen,  to  the  cases  in  which 
many  motives  act  simultaneously  upon  the  will ;  and 
let  us  consider  them  for  a  moment,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  discovering  whether  it  is  true  that  the 
strongest  motive  always  determines  our  volition,  — 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  101 

for  even  were  it  true,  I  have  already  answered  the 
objection,  —  but  to  observe,  and  wonder  at  the  false 
logic,  and  confused  notions,  into  which  the  advocates 
of  necessity  fall,  in  attempting  to  explain  what  takes 
place  within  our  minds. 

It  is  the  strongest  motive,  say  they,  which  deter- 
mines the  will.  What  is  this  strongest  motive,  I 
ask,  and  how  do  you  measure  the  comparative  force 
of  motives?  Is  that  the  strongest  motive,  according 
to  your  idea,  which  determines  the  volition  ?  If  this 
is  so,  you  are  arguing  in  a  circle;  and,  instead  of 
showing  that  it  is  the  strongest  motive  which  decides 
the  will,  you  are  merely  saying  that,  as  the  deter- 
mination of  the  will  is  in  conformity  with  such  or 
such  a  motive,  therefore  this  motive  is  the  strongest. 
Arguing  in  this  way,  there  certainly  is  reason  enough 
for  saying  that  the  strongest  motive  determines  the 
will,  since  that  is  designated  as  the  strongest  which 
does  determine  it.  It  is  impossible,  therefore,  to 
judge,  from  effects  in  the  scheme  of  necessity,  of  the 
relative  force  of  motives. 

But,  if  we  cannot  judge  from  effects,  we  must 
find  some  common  measure  by  which  to  decide.  Let 
us  inquire,  then,  what  this  measure  can  be. 

You  understand,  gentlemen,  after  the  description 
given  in  former  lectures,  that  there  are  two  kinds 
of  moving  powers  acting  upon  us  ;  first,  the  impulses 
of  instinct,  or  passion  ;  and,  secondly,  the  conceptions 
of  reason.  Thus,  when  I  am  excited  to  act  from 
sympathy  for  another,  this  impulse  is  a  simple  natural 
emotion  —  a  momentum;  when,  on  the  other  hand, 
1  am  led  to  this  act  from  the  consideration  that  it  is 


102  JOUFFROY. 

conformable  to  duty  or  self-interest,  this  consideration 
is  a  conception  of  reason  —  a  motive,  properly  speak- 
ing. That  these  two  kinds  of  moving  powers  can  and 
do  act  efficiently  upon  my  volitions,  there  can  be  no 
doubt ;  it  is  evident  that  my  resolves  •  are  often  the 
consequence  of  a  perception  of  my  duty  or  interest ; 
and  it  is  no  less  evident  that  often,  also,  they  are  the 
issue  of  rny  desires,  passions,  and  natural  impulses. 
Suppose,  now,  that,  in  a  given  case,  motives  of  both 
kinds  act  simultaneously,  and  in  an  opposite  direction 
upon  my  will,  and  I  say  there  is  not,  and  cannot  be, 
any  common  measure  between  them. 

And,  now,  on  what  grounds  can  we  declare,  that  a 
conception  of  the  reason,  or  a  conception  of  interest, 
which  leads  me  to  any  act,  is  a  stronger  motive  than 
the  present  passion,  which  impels  me  to  do  the  oppo- 
site 1  As  one  of  these  motives  is  a  passion,  and  the 
other  an  idea,  I  find  a  difficulty  in  comparing  them; 
and  I  challenge  the  most  ingenious  to  find  a  common 
measure,  which  can  be  applied  to  two  things  in  their 
nature  so  different,  or  which  can  direct  me  to  a  true 
appreciation  of  their  relative  forces. 

Of  two  impulses,  manifestly  unequal,  it  would  be 
easy  to  determine  the  stronger :  a  vehement  desire 
is  distinguishable  in  our  consciousness  from  one  less 
so.  And  thus,  merely  from  their- vivacity  and  fer- 
vor, we  may  often  recognize  the  stronger  from  the 
weaker  passion.  There  is,  then,  if  you  choose  to  say 
so,  a  common  measure  between  different  impulses  of 
our  sensitive  nature,  which  are  peculiarly  distinguished 
as  emotions  On  the  other  hand,  of  different  courses 
of  conduct  which  reason  and  self-interest  bring  into 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  103 

contrast,  I  may  see,  that  one  is  much  more  advanta- 
geous than  another.  There  is,  then,  if  you  please,  a 
means  of  comparing  together  different  suggestions  of 
self-interest :  the  suggestion  which  promises  the  most 
for  my  interest  should  have  the  most  power  over  me. 
In  the  same  way,  among  different  duties  which  may 
present  themselves  to  my  judgment,  there  may  be  one 
which  appears  more  obligatory  than  another ;  for  there 
are  duties  of  different  degrees  of  importance,  and  in 
many  cases  I  must  sacrifice  the  lesser  to  the  greater. 
I  perceive,  then,  that,  strictly  speaking,  there  is  a  pos- 
sibility of  comparing  together  the  relative  force  of 
different  motives  originating  from  duty,  and  of  differ- 
ent motives  suggested  by  self-interest,  or,  finally,  of 
different  desires  striving  within  me  at  a  given  moment. 
But  between  a  desire  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  concep- 
tion of  interest  or  of  duty  on  the  other,  where,  I  ask, 
can  you  find  a  standard  of  comparison?  If  I  assume 
passion  as  the  measure,  then,  evidently,  passion  will 
appear  the  stronger  motive  ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  assume  interest  or  duty  as  the  measure,  then  desire 
becomes  nothing,  and  duty  or  interest  seems  all  in  all. 
It  depends,  then,  wholly  upon  the  measure  of  compar- 
ison which  I  adopt,  whether  this  or  the  other  motive 
is  strongest ;  which  proves  that  there  is  no  common 
measure  of  comparison  to  be  applied  at  all  times  to 
these  different  kinds  of  motives,  when  we  would 
estimate  their  relative  force. 

Thus,  in  truth,  in  almost  every  case,  to  say  that  we 
yield  to  the  strongest  motive,  is  to  say  what  has  no 
meaning ;  for  in  most  cases  it  is  impossible  to  deter- 
nine  the  strongest  motive.  If  I  will  to  be  prudent, 


104  JOUFFROY. 

I  follow  the  motive  of  self-interest ;  if  I  will  to  be 
virtuous,  I  follow  the  motive  of  duty  ;  if  I  will  to  be 
neither  prudent  nor  virtuous,  I  follow  passion ;  and  in 
proportion  as  I  yield  to  passion,  to  enlightened  in- 
terest, or  to  duty,  does  the  merit  of  rny  conduct  vary. 
And  here  is  a  marvel  for  the  advocate  of  necessity, 
and  something  which,  in  the  sincerity  of  his  conviction, 
he  well  may  wonder  at.  I,  who  am  not  free,  —  who, 
whatever  resolution  I  have  taken,  have  yet  been  fatally 
determined  to  take  it  by  the  strongest  motive,  —  I  feel 
that  I  am  responsible  for  this  resolution ;  and  others, 
too,  regard  me  as  responsible ;  so  that,  according  as 
I  have  been  impelled  to  this  or  that  act,  do  I  believe 
myself  to  have  merit  or  demerit,  and  pass  sentence  on 
myself  as  reasonable  or  unreasonable,  prudent  or  fool- 
ish ;  and,  in  a  word,  apply  to  myself,  although  I  have 
yielded  necessarily  to  the  strongest  motive,  certain 
expressions  and  names,  all  implying  most  decisively 
and  forcibly  that  I  was  free  to  yield  or  resist,  to  take, 
at  my  option,  this  or  the  other  course,  and,  conse- 
quently, that  this,  so  called,  strongest  motive  did  not, 
after  all,  determine  my  act.  Here,  I  repeat,  is  that 
which  may  well  excite  the  astonishment  of  the  advo- 
cates of  necessity,  and  which  they  should  do  their 
best  to  explain. 

You  see  that  this  doctrine,  seemingly  so  simple  and 
natural  that,  among  many  motives  acting  upon  us, 
the  strongest  inevitably  determines  our  volition,  is  so 
far  from  being  simple,  that  it  really  becomes  in- 
comprehensible the  moment  we  examine  it  more 
closely. 

When   I    attempt   thus   to   bring   argument   against 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  105 

argument,  for  the  sake  of  proving  that  we  are  free, 
and  that  motives  do  not  exercise  a  controlling  force 

o 

over  us,  I  feel  as  uncomfortable  as  if  I  were  answering 
one  who  should  deny  our  power  of  moving  or  walking. 
To  employ  arguments  in  refuting  such  an  opinion 
seems  like  some  game  of  logic ;  for  I  have  to  oppose 
to  this  opinion  a  plain  and  decisive  fact  —  a  fact,  the 
consciousness  of  which  I  can  never  lose,  and  which 
is  in  accordance  with  common  forms  of  speech  in 
all  languages,  with  the  universal  faith,  and  with  the 
established  practices  of  mankind.  And  I  smile  to 
think,  that,  when  I  can  utterly  destroy  the  system  of 
necessity,  by  merely  bringing  it  in  conflict  with  this 
fact,  I  should  yet  be  seeking  superfluous  trains  of  rea- 
soning to  oppose  it  with.  This  fact,  which  we  cannot 
escape  from,  is  one  which  consciousness  bears  witness 
to,  when  placed  under  the  influence  of  the  strongest  pos- 
sible motive,  say  self-preservation.  I  feel  distinctly  that 
it  depends  upon  myself,  and  only  upon  myself,  whether 
I  shall  yield  to  or  resist  this  motive,  and  do  or  refrain 
from  what  it  recommends.  I  can  conceive,  indeed,  that 
a  man  may,  in  good  faith,  deny  this  evident  fact ;  for  to 
what  lengths  of  delusion  will  not  the  spirit  of  theory 
and  system  carry  us  ?  But  I  will  ask  him,  am  I  not 
justified  in  not  admitting  this  peculiar  opinion  of  a 
small  body  of  men,  when  I  see  that  even  they  act  and 
speak  as  if  they  agreed  in  my  opinion  ;  when  I  see  the 
most  logical  among  them  form  a  scheme  of  ethics, 
and  give  rules  for  conduct;  when  I  find  in  every 
tongue  the  words  right  and  duty,  punishment  and 
reward,  merit  and  demerit;  when  the  whole  human 
race  agree  in  being  indignant  against  him  who  does 


106 

wrong,  and  in  admiring  him  who  does  right ;  when, 
indeed,  there  is  not  an  event  in  human  life,  which 
does  not  imply  necessarily,  and  in  a  thousand  different 
ways,  this  very  freedom  of  will  of  which  I  feel  so 
sensibly  and  deeply  conscious?  I  have  certainly  some 
right  to  feel  strengthened  in  my  opinion  by  so  many 
testimonies  to  its  truth,  and  by  its  perfect  accordance 
with  what  I  see  about  me.  And,  were  there  no 
stronger  objections  against  the  doctrine  which  denies 
human  freedom,  than  this  universal  contradiction 
which  it  offers  to  all  human  belief,  conduct,  and 
language,  to  all  judgments  and  feelings,  it  would, 
even  then,  be  more  completely  answered  than  it 
deserves. 

I  pass  now  to  another  argument  against  the  freedom 
of  the  will,  which  I  will  endeavor  to  set  before  you  in 
the  simplest  form. 

If,  it  is  said,  man  is  really  free ;  if  he  is  not  necessarily 
determined  on  every  occasion  by  the  strongest  motive, 
—  all  the  calculations  which  we  make  as  to  men's 
conduct  would  be  ridiculous,  and  there  would  be  no 
means  of  anticipating  a  result.  And,  in  fact,  to  admit 
that  man  is  a  free  being,  is  to  admit  that  his  resolu- 
tions, and  consequently  his  actions,  are  not  the  conse- 
quence of  the  motives  which  influence  his  will.  Now, 
when  I  seek  to  foresee  what  a  man's  conduct  will  be 
in  any  given  circumstances,  I  begin  with  considering 
the  motives  which  ought  to  influence  his  actions  ;  I 
calculate  the  relative  force  of  these  motives,  and,  when 
I  have  found,  as  I  think,  the  strongest,  I  conclude, 
without  hesitation,  that  he  will  pursue  the  course 
which  this  motive  prescribes.  It  is  plain  that  this 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  107 

reasoning,  so  constantly  repeated,  implies  the  truth  of 
the  doctrine  that  the  motives  do  determine  necessarily 
the  volition,  and  that,  of  different  motives,  the  strongest 
does  determine  the  choice. 

I  will  begin  by  the  remark,  that  this  reasoning  upon 
the  future  conduct  of  men,  even  when  we  are  perfectly 
sure  of  all  the  motives  which  will  be  presented  to  them 
when  making  their  decision,  carries  with  it  by  no 
means  the  same  feeling  of  certainty  with  which  we 
form  our  calculations  as  to  physical  events,  whose 
laws  of  operation  are  known.  When  a  law  of  nature 
is  known,  it  is  with  complete  certainty  that  we  predict 
phenomena  which  will  occur  under  that  law ;  but 
instead  of  this,  when  we  try  to  form  a  calculation  as 
to  the  resolution  that  a  man  will  come  to  under  certain 
circumstances,  the  motives  which  can  operate  upon  him 
being  all  supposed  known,  our  reasoning  never  goes 
further  than  to  a  judgment  on  probabilities ;  and,  in 
fact,  nothing  is  more  common  in  such  cases  than  to 
find  by  the  event  that  we  were  deceived.  I  might 
avail  myself  advantageously  of  this  uncertainty,  as 
making  in  favor  of  my  opinion,  and  account  for  it  in 
part  by  the  very  fact  of  human  freedom,  which  the 
advocates  of  necessity  deny.  But  I  will  not  do  this. 
I  prefer  rather  to  ascribe  this  uncertainty  altogether  to 
two  most  evident  and  unquestionable  causes ;  first, 
that  we  can  never  foresee  what  motive  among  the 
many  which  may  influence  his  conduct,  will  present 
themselves  to  the  agent ;  and,  secondly,  that,  having  no 
measure  of  his  sensibility,  his  selfish  passions,  or  con- 
scientiousness, we  cannot  calculate  what  motive  will 
be  the  strongest.  I  will  admit,  then,  that  these  two 


108  JOUFFROY. 

causes  are  the  only  ones  which  render  our  foresight 
of  conduct  uncertain.  But  what  follows  ?  What 
consequence  is  to  be  drawn  from  this  ?  This  only, 
that,  if  we  could  know  all  the  motives  which  will 
act  upon  a  man's  will,  and,  moreover,  which  among 
these  motives  will  be  the  strongest,  we  could  predict 
with  certainty  his  conduct;  that  is  to  say,  —  to  express 
it  as  it  should  be  expressed,  —  if  we  could  know  all 
the  motives  which  will  act  upon  him,  and  the  motive 
that  will  determine  his  choice,  we  should  know  what 
his  resolve  will  be.  We  could  predict  his  resolution 
beforehand,  if  we  knew  what  it  was !  Upon  this 
condition,  uncertainty  as  to  the  acts  of  our  fellow- 
beings  would  disappear.  All  this  it  is  easy  enough 
to  conceive  of;  but  does  it  not  prove  that  the  attempt 
to  trace  a  similarity  between  volitions  and  events  in 
the  physical  world  is  only  a  foolish  playing  upon 
words  and  nonsense? 

Two  things  are  certain,  gentlemen  :  first,  that  we 
cannot  foresee,  except  in  a  limited  degree,  the  voli- 
tion of  our  fellow-beings  in  any  given  circumstance ; 
secondly,  that  such  anticipations  can  never,  even  in 
the  most  favorable  circumstances,  rise  above  a  high 
probability.  Does  this  limited  power  of  foresight 
of  actions  imply  that  man  is  not  free  ?  or  is  it  recon- 
cilable with  the  fact  of  human  liberty  ?  This  is  the 
question.  Now,  suppose  a  being  who  is  perfectly 
master  of  himself,  —  that  is  to  say,  who  has  the  powei 
of  disposing  his  faculties,  directing  them,  ^and,  con 
seqtiently,  of  governing  his  conduct;  place  such  a 
being  in  circumstances  where  there  are  two  courses 
to  be  pursued  —  one  evidently  unpromising,  the  other 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  109 

encouraging  —  and  give  him  intelligence  sufficient 
to  see  and  comprehend  this ;  —  precisely  because  he 
is  free,  is  it  not  probable,  and  almost  certain,  that 
he  will  use  his  freedom,  that  is  to  say,  his  power, 
of  governing  his  conduct,  in  such  a  way  as  to  avoid 
the  course  which  threatens  evil,  and  choose  that 
which  promises  advantage  ?  Without  doubt.  Thus 
supposing  him  free,  we  can  form  very  probable  con- 
jectures as  to  his  conduct.  I  ask,  now,  whether  all 
the  conjectures  which  we  do  or  can  form  as  to  the 
actions  of  our  fellow-beings,  are  not  of  this  kind  ? 
They  are,  then,  wholly  compatible  with  a  belief  in 
human  freedom.  More  than  this,  they  really  imply 
and  suppose  it;  for  they  begin  always  with  the 
supposition  that  the  being  is  reasonable,  and  that 
he  will  therefore  perceive  the  most  agreeable,  the 
most  useful,  or  the  most  proper  course  of  conduct ; 
which  implies  that,  after  he  has  thus  discovered  what 
it  is,  he  will  be  free  to  follow  it.  For  where  would 
be  the  good  in  reason's  seeing  the  right,  if  there 
was  no  liberty  of  acting  accordingly  1  I  ask,  again, 
is  this  the  way  in  which  we  reason,  when  we  attempt 
to  foresee  the  operation  of  forces  acting  from  neces- 
sity, as  winds,  waters,  the  atmosphere  ?  Which,  then, 
do  our  conjectures  as  to  human  actions  imply,  their 
liberty  or  necessity  ? 

It  is  a  matter  of  daily  experience,  that  we  resist 
the  force  of  different  motives  originating  in  duty, 
self-love,  or  passion.  Would  such  resistance,  which 
cannot  be  denied,  be  possible  in  a  being  whose 
volitions  were  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  action 
of  motives  or  impulses?  Does  not  this  single  fact 

VOL.    I.  K 


110  JOUFFROr. 

of  resistance  prove,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  is  not 
by  motives,  as  a  cause,  that  volitions  are  produced, 
as  the  effect,  but  from  the  me,  as  a  true  cause,  which 
deliberates  before  determining?  and  that,  therefore, 
1  am  subject  only  to  the  influence,  and  nowise  to 
the  constraining  force,  of  motive?  But  enough,  and 
too  much,  on  this  subject.  Let  us  pass  to  another 
form  of  the  argument  for  necessity  —  the  last  which 
I  shall  offer  to  your  consideration. 

I  take  up,  as  you  perceive,  only  the  principal 
arguments  by  which  the  scheme  of  necessity  is  sup- 
ported; because,  if  I  should  attempt  to  consider  all 
the  weak  as  well  as  strong,  the  incidental  as  well  as 
leading  ones,  the  limits  of  a  lecture  would  be  too 
narrow.  I  confine  myself,  therefore,  simply  to  an 
exposition  of  the  most  important  of  these  reasonings, 
and  give  to  each  as  brief  a  discussion  as  possible. 

There  are  philosophers  who  have  denied  the  free- 
dom of  the  will,  chiefly  on  the  ground  that,  if  men 
were  free,  they  would  be  incapable  of  being  subject 
to  control  or  government ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
say  they,  how  are  men  governed  ?  The  condition 
of  their  being  governed  is,  that  the  rewards  and 
punishments  which  excite  hope  or  fear  should  operate 
necessarily  upon  their  volition ;  for,  if  they  do  not 
act  necessarily,  that  is  to  say,  if  their  wills  are  free, 
it  is  evident  that  they  cannot  be  governed.  Do  not 
complain  of  the  weakness  of  this  argument.  1  find 
it  as  weak  as  you  do.  It  is  not  my  duty,  however, 
to  strengthen  the  positions  of  the  system  I  am 
attacking. 

In    such    reasoning    as    this,    there   is   a   manifest 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  Ill 

sophistry  and  confusion  of  language.  Government, 
as  you  well  know,  is  of  two  kinds  —  physical  arid 
moral.  Physical  government  acts  by  constraint,  moral 
government  by  influence.  If  I  have  some  puppets 
before  me,  and  hold  in  my  hand  the  strings  which 
are  attached  to  their  limbs,  I  may  truly  be  said  to 
govern  the  puppets ;  there  is  nothing  contradictory 
in  the  expression ;  yet  every  one  feels  that  the 
expression  is  metaphorical.  We  say,  too,  that  the 
puppets  obey  the  impulse  which  I  communicate  to 
them  ;  but  we  feel  here,  too,  that  this  word  obedience 
has  a  metaphorical  sense,  as  the  word  government 
had  before. 

To  pretend  that  men,  before  they  can  be  subject  to 
government,  must  be  influenced  in  their  actions  by 
those  who  govern  them,  as  puppets  are  by  him  who 
pulls  the  wires,  is  an  opinion  as  utterly  opposed  to 
common  sense  as  can  well  be  imagined.  The  fact  is, 
that  when  a  legislator  threatens  with  penalties  those 
who  infringe  a  law,  or  promises  rewards  to  those  who 
obey  it,  he  has  no  thought  of  constraining,  as  with 
physical  force,  the  will  of  those  to  whom  he  offers  this 
twofold  sanction  of  the  law ;  his  only  intention  is  to 
give  rise  to  hopes  and  fears  which  may,  in  the  case 
proposed,  act  as  motives  on  their  volition.  He  takes 
men  as  they  are ;  he  shows  them,  if  he  is  wise  and 
just,  what  is  their  true  duty,  their  real  interest ;  he  calls 
this  a  law ;  and  then,  to  enforce  the  obligation  which 
this  duty  imposes,  and  strengthen  the  desire  which 
their  interests  awaken,  he  superadds  promises  and 
threats.  Does  this  imply  that  he  considers  men  as 
puppets?  Just  the  contrary.  If  he  thought  men  ma- 


112  JOUFFROY. 

chines,  he  would  not  attempt  to  enforce  the  law  by 
exhibiting  to  them  its  justice  or  expediency  ;  for  these 
conceptions  of  the  reason  do  not  act  like  material 
forces,  by  necessary  impulsion.  He  would  not  menace 
them  with  penalties,  he  would  not  promise  reward ;  for 
menaces  and  promises  act  only  through  the  medium 
of  reason  and  passion,  and  not  as  a  constraining  force. 
This  is  the  way  in  which  he  who  would  govern  men 
attempts  it ;  and  when  he  secures  their  obedience,  he 
knows  that  it  is  in  this  way  he  has  done  it ;  and  herein 
is  discovered  the  true  and  proper  meaning  of  the  words 
government  and  obedience.  These  words,  in  their 
proper  acceptation,  imply  the  liberty  of  the  subject  of 
government ;  and  it  is  only  in  a  metaphorical  sense 
that  we  employ  them  when  we  speak  of  governing  the 
puppets,  or  of  their  obeying  us.  Whoever,  then,  as- 
serts that  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  government,  if 
man  is  a  free  being,  places  himself  in  direct  opposition 
to  common  forms  of  speech,  and  to  the  only  true 
meaning  of  these  very  words,  government  and  obedience, 
which,  far  from  excluding  the  idea  of  the  liberty  of  the 
governed,  necessarily  implies  it,  and  never  could  have 
been  invented  without  this  idea  of  liberty. 

Such  is  the  difference  between  physical  and  moral 
government.  No  man  of  common  sense  can  fail  to 
perceive  a  distinction  which  is  clear  as  the  day.  To 
influence  and  to  compel  are  two  wholly  dissimilar 
acts.  To  be  subject  to  influence,  a  being  must  be 
supposed  to  have  the  faculties  of  comprehension  and 
of  choice  —  in  a  word,  freedom  of  will.  Compulsion 
supposes  nothing  of  the  kind.  We  compel  beings 
who  have  no  intelligence,  no  freedom  of  choice.  We 


SYSTEM    OF    NECESSITY.  113 

influence  beings  who  are  endowed  with  these  capaci- 
ties. Suppress  the  ideas  of  liberty  and  of  intelli- 
gence, and  the  word  influence  has  no  legitimate  sense 
in  which  it  can  be  applied,  any  more  than  the  words 
government,  pr  obedience,  or  a  thousand  others,  with 
which  all  languages  are  filled,  and  which  are  all 
genuine  products  of  our  moral  nature. 

Do  not  ascribe  this  long  discussion,  into  which  I 
have  entered,  to  any  fear  of  disastrous  consequences 
upon  the  mind  of  our  age  from  this  system  of  necessity. 
I  am  entirely  at  ease  on  that  subject.  And  by  what  I 
have  said,  I  do  not  suppose  that  I  have  either  strength- 
ened or  weakened  your  clear  conviction  and  profound 
consciousness  of  moral  freedom.  But  these  ideas, 
which  we  have  been  considering,  enter  into  great  sys- 
tems of  philosophy  taught  by  distinguished  men  ;  and 
therefore  it  has  been  impossible  wholly  to  pass  them  by. 
As  you  well  know,  a  warm  controversy  was  raised, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  by  the 
most  celebrated  philosophers  of  that  era,  in  which 
Clarke,  Leibnitz,  Collins,  following  Hobbes  and 
Spinoza,  whose  strange  doctrines  had  disturbed  all 
the  notions  of  common  sense,  took  part.  This  contro- 
versy was  a  great  event  at  the  time  ;  it  seemed  as  if 
man's  moral  freedom  would  perish  utterly,  if  it  could 
not  be  saved  from  some  empty  sophisms.  The  result, 
however,  was,  that  facts  were  so  firmly  established,  the 
meaning  of  words  so  accurately  fixed,  and  questions, 
before  confounded  in  most  minds,  so  separated  and 
disengaged,  that  the  work  of  establishing  for  the 
freedom  of  the  will  the  same  place  in  science  that  it 

K2 


114  JOUFFKOY. 

had  always  held  in  common  sense  became  compara- 
tively easy.  By  the  mass  of  mankind  this  doctrine 
is  never  doubted ;  their  words,  acts,  and  thoughts 
prove  that  they  admit  it  without  a  question. 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  115 


LECTURE    V. 

SYSTEM  OP  MYSTICISM. 

GENTLEMEN, 

OP  the  four  great  systems  implying  the 
impossibility  of  a  law  of  human  obligation,  I  have, 
in  my  last  lecture,  exhibited  the  first  —  the  system 
of  necessity.  You  have  seen  this  system  under  three 
different  forms;  that  is  to  say,  as  arriving,  by  three 
different  ways,  at  the  common  conclusion,  that  man 
is  not  a  free  being.  Hobbes,  displacing  liberty  from 
its  rightful  sphere,  and  denying  that  it  exists  where 
only  it  is  to  be  found,  while  falsely  affirming  its 
existence  elsewhere,  preserves  the  name,  while  he 
destroys  the  reality.  Hume  gives  up  both ;  for,  by 
destroying  the  idea  of  an  efficient  cause  altogether, 
he  makes  it  impossible  that  the  question  of  liberty 
should  be  discussed  at  all.  Other  philosophers,  too 
numerous  to  be  named,  arrive  at  the  same  result, 
by  asserting  that  motives  necessarily  determine  the 
will.  Such  are  the  three  forms,  under  which  I  have 
successively  exhibited  the  system  of  necessity,  and 
which  I  have  in  turn  endeavored  to  refute.  I  would 
here  leave  the  consideration  of  this  system,  and  pass 


116  JOUFFROY 

immediately  to  the  system  of  mysticism,  which  I 
proposed  as  the  subject  of  this  lecture,  were  there 
not,  among  the  forms  under  which  the  doctrine  of 
necessity  has  been  advocated,  yet  a  fourth,  sufficiently 
famous  and  remarkable  to  demand  some  consideration. 
I  will  give  you  a  rapid  sketch  of  it,  and  then  pass 
to  the  system  of  mysticism,  which,  as  I  have  said, 
will  be  the  subject  of  the  present  lecture. 

This  fourth  form  of  the  doctrine  of  necessity  is 
that  which  is  based  upon  the  seeming  incompatibility 
of  human  freedom  with  divine  foreknowledge.  This 
is  the  argument  of  its  advocates.  There  is  but  one 
alternative :  either  man  is  free,  and  then  it  must  be 
impossible  to  foresee  his  volitions,  or  else  his  volitions 
can  be  foreseen,  and  then  it  is  impossible  that  he 
should*  be  free.  We  must  sacrifice  our  belief  in 
human  freedom,  or  our  faith  in  divine  foreknowledge. 
We  can  choose  for  ourselves ;  but,  for  themselves, 
the  advocates  of  this  system  do  not  Hesitate  to  give 
up  the  idea  of  human  liberty. 

I  remark,  in  the  first  place,  that  philosophy  is 
by  no  means  obliged  to  give  a  full  explanation  of 
all  things  —  and  for  this  very  good  reason,  that  the 
human  mind  being  limited,  it  cannot  explain  all 
things.  Philosophy  does  not  explain,  and  is  not 
bound  to  explain,  more  than  the  human  mind  can 
comprehend.  The  boundary  of  human  comprehension 
is  the  boundary  of  philosophy.  She  has  no  need 
of  carrying  her  explanation  further.  Supposing,  then, 
that  the  mind  cannot  reconcile  human  liberty  with 
the  a  priori  conception  of  the  foreknowledge  of  God, 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  117 

it  by  no  means  follows  that  the  fact  of  human  liberty, 
or  that  the  conception  of  the  divine  foreknowledge, 
should  be  sacrificed ;  it  only  follows  that  the  mind, 
comprehending  the  idea  that  God  must  foresee  the 
future,  and  finding,  on  the  other  hand,  the  fact  that 
man  is  free,  is  not  able  to  explain  how  these  two  facts 
can  be  reconciled. 

The  only  condition  which  can  make  it  necessary  for 
us  to  sacrifice  our  faith  either  in  human  liberty  or 
in  divine  foreknowledge,  is,  that  there  is  an  absolute 
contradiction  between  these  two  ideas  ;  such  a  contra- 
diction as  there  would  be  between  the  two  propositions, 
two  and  two  make  four,  two  and  two  do  not  make 
four.  In  this  case,  gentlemen,  but  in  this  case  only, 
where  reason  distinctly  perceives  it  to  be  impossible 
that  what  we  conceive  of  God  and  what  we  feel  in 
ourselves  should  both  be  absolutely  true,  should  we  be 
bound  to  sacrifice  the  conception  to  the  fact,  or  the 
fact  to  the  conception ;  for  then,  and  then  only,  would 
all  chance  of  reconciling  the  conflicting  evidence  on 
which  they  rest  be  destroyed. 

Suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  this  was  really  the  case ; 
then,  for  myself,  I  say,  that,  forced  in  this  supposed 
extremity  to  choose,  I  should  feel  bound  to  sacrifice 
my  faith  in  divine  foreknowledge. 

The  fact  of  human  liberty  is  something  of  which 
we  are  much  more  certain  than  we  can  be  of  divine 
foreknowledge.  Why  ?  For  this  excellent  reason  — 
the  idea  that  God  foresees  the  future,  is  but  a  conse- 
quence from  our  idea  of  God.  Now,  the  idea  which 
men  form  of  God  must  evidently  be  a  most  incomplete 
one;  for  it  is  impossible  that  human  reason  should,  m 


118  IOUFFROY. 

its  weakness,  comprehend  v*od,  who  is  infinite.  Should 
we  place  an  idea,  which  is  but  a  consequence  of  a 
most  imperfect  conception  of  a  Being  who  is  infinite, 
in  comparison  with  a  fact  falling  under  our  immediate 
observation  ?  This  would  not  surely  be  the  part  of 
good  sense.  If,  then,  we  do  perceive  an  absolute  con- 
tradiction between  the  divine  foreknowledge  and  human 
liberty,  and  feel  ourselves  obliged  to  give  up  one  or 
the  other,  it  must  be  our  belief  in  the  divine  foreknowl- 
edge. For  we  are  more  sure  that  we  are  free  beings, 
than  we  can  be  that  God  foresees  the  future.  No  such 
contradiction,  however,  really  exists ;  it  is  but  an 
illusion,  as  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  prove. 

To  begin,  then,  with  a  very  simple  remark  :  if  we 
conceive  that  foreknowledge  in  the  divine  Being  acts 
as  it  does  in  us,  we  run  the  risk  of  forming  a  most 
incorrect  notion  of  it,  and,  consequently,  of  seeing  a 
contradiction  between  it  and  liberty,  that  would  dis- 
appear altogether  had  we  a  truer  notion.  Let  us  con- 
sider that  we  have  not  the  same  faculty  for  foreseeing 
the  future  as  we  have  of  reviewing  the  past ;  and  even 
in  cases  where  we  do  anticipate  it,  it  is  by  an  induction 
from  the  past.  This  induction  may  amount  either  to 
certainty,  or  merely  to  probability.  It  will  amount  to 
certainty  when  we  are  perfectly  acquainted  with  neces- 
sary causes,  and  their  law  of  operation.  The  effects 
of  such  causes  in  given  circumstances  having  been 
determined  by  experience,  we  can  predict  the  return 
of  similar  effects  under  similar  circumstances  with 
entire  certainty,  so  long  at  least  as  the  present  laws 
of  nature  remain  in  force.  It  is  in  this  way  that  we 
foresee,  in  most  cases,  the  physical  occurrences,  whose 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM. 


law  of  operation  is  known  to  us  ;  and  such  foresight 
would  extend  much  further,  were  it  not  for  unexpected 
circumstances  which  come  in  to  modify  the  result. 
This  induction  can  never  go  beyond  probability,  how- 
ever, when  we  consider  the  acts  of  free  causes  ;  and 
for  the  very  reason  that  they  are  free,  and  that  the 
effects  which  arise  from  such  causes  are  not  of  neces- 
sary occurrence,  and  do  not  invariably  follow  the  same 
antecedent  circumstances.  Where  the  question  is, 
then,  as  to  the  acts  of  any  free  cause,  we  are  never 
able  to  foresee  it  with  certainty,  and  induction  is 
limited  to  conjectures  of  probability. 

Such  is  the  operation,  and  such  are  the  limits  of 
human  foresight.  Our  minds  foresee  the  future  by 
induction  from  the  past  ;  this  foresight  can  never  attain 
certainty  except  in  the  case  of  causes  and  effects 
connected  by  necessary  dependence  ;  when  the  effects 
of  free  causes  are  to  be  anticipated,  as  all  such  effects 
are  contingent,  our  foresight  must  be  merely  con- 
jecture. 

If,  now,  we  attempt  to  attribute  to  the  Deity  the 
same  mode  of  foresight  of  which  human  beings  are 
capable,  it  will  follow,  as  a  strict  consequence,  that,  as 
God  must  know  exactly  and  completely  the  laws  to 
which  all  the  necessary  causes  in  nature  are  subject  — 
laws  which  change  only  according  to  his  will,  —  he  can 
ioresee  with  absolute  certainty  all  events  which  will 
take  place  in  the  future.  The  certain  foresight  of 
effects,  therefore,  which  is  to  us  possible  only  in  par- 
ticular cases,  and  which,  even  then,  is  always  liable  to 
the  limitation  that  the  actual  laws  of  nature  are  not 
modified,  —  this  foresight,  which,  even  when  most  sure, 


120  JOUFFROY. 

is  limited  and  contingent,  must  be  complete  and  abso- 
lute certainty  in  God,  supposing  his  foreknowledge  to 
be  of  like  kind  with  ours. 

But  it  is  evident  that,  according  to  this  hypothesis, 
the  Deity  cannot  foresee  with  certainty  the  volitions 
of  free  causes  any  more  than  we  can  ;  for,  as  his  fore- 
sight is  founded,  as  ours  is,  upon  the  knowledge  of  the 
laws  which  govern  causes,  and  as  the  law  of  free  causes 
is  precisely  this,  that  their  volitions  are  not  necessary, 
God  cannot  calculate,  any  more  than  a  human  being 
can,  the  influence  of  motives,  which,  in  any  given  case, 
may  act  upon  such  causes.  Even  his  intelligence  can 
lead  no  further  than  to  conjectures,  more  probable, 
indeed,  than  ours,  but  never  amounting  to  certainty. 
According  to  this  hypothesis,  we  must,  therefore,  say 
eitrrer  that  God  can  foresee,  certainly,  the  future 
volitions  of  men,  and  that  man,  therefore,  is  not  a  free 
being,  or  that  man  is  free,  and  that  God,  therefore, 
cannot,  any  more  than  we  can,  foresee  his  volitions 
with  certainty ;  and  thus  divine  prescience  and  human 
free-will  are  brought  into  direct  contradiction. 

But,  gentlemen,  why  must  there  be  this  contradic- 
tion 1  Merely  because  we  suppose  that  God  foresees 
the  future  in  the  same  way  in  which  we  foresee  it ; 
that  his  foreknowledge  operates  like  our  own.  Now, 
is  this,  I  ask,  such  an  idea  as  we  ought  to  form  of 
divine  prescience,  or  such  an  idea  as  even  the  par- 
tisans of  this  system,  which  I  am  opposing,  form  ? 
Have  we  any  reason  for  thus  imposing  upon  the  Deity 
the  limitation  of  our  own  feebleness  ?  I  think  not. 

Unendowed,  as  we  are,  with  any  faculty  of  foresee- 
ing the  future,  it  may  be  difficult  for  us  to  conceive  of 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  12- 

such  a  faculty  in  God.  But  yet  can  we  not  from  anal- 
ogy form  such  an  idea  ?  We  have  now  two  faculties 
of  perception  —  of  the  past  by  memory,  of  the  present 
by  observation ;  can  we  not  imagine  a  third  to  exist  in 
God  —  the  faculty  of  perceiving  the  future,  as  we  per- 
ceive the  past  1  What  would  be  the  consequence  ? 
This :  that  God,  instead  of  conjecturing,  by  induction, 
the  acts  of  human  beings  from  the  laws  of  the  causes 
operating  upon  them,  would  see  them  simply  as  the 
results  of  the  free  determinations  of  the  will.  Such 
perception  of  future  acts  no  more  implies  the  necessity 
of  those  actions,  than  the  perception  of  similar  acts  in 
the  past.  To  see  that  effects  arise  from  certain  causes 
is  not  to  force  causes  to  produce  them ;  neither  is  it  to 
compel  these  effects  to  follow.  It  matters  not  whether 
such  a  perception  refers  to  the  past,  present,  or  future  ; 
it  is  merely  a  perception;  and,  therefore,  far  from 
producing  the  effect  perceived,  it  even  presupposes  this 
effect  already  produced. 

I  do  not  pretend  that  this  vision  of  what  is  to  be 
is  an  operation  of  which  our  minds  easily  conceive. 
It  is  difficult  to  form  an  image  of  what  we  have  never 
experienced ;  but  I  do  assert,  that  the  power  of  seeing 
what  no  longer  exists  is  full  as  remarkable  as  that 
of  seeing  what  has  as  yet  no  being,  and  that  the  reason 
of  our  readily  conceiving  of  the  former  is  only  the 
fact  that  we  are  endowed  with  such  a  power  :  to  my 
reason,  the  mystery  is  the  same. 

But  whatever  may  or  may  not  be  in  reality  the  mode 
of  divine  foreknowledge,  or  however  exact  may  be 
the  image  which  we  attempt  to  form  of  it,  it  always, 
I  say,  —  and  this  is  the  only  point  I  am  desirous  of 


122  JOUFFROY. 

proving,  —  it  always  remains  a  matter  of  uncertainty, 
which  cannot  be  removed,  whether  the  divine  fore- 
knowledge is  of  a  kind  like  our  own,  or  not ;  and  as,  in 
the  one  case,  there  would  not  be  the  same  contra- 
diction that  there  is  in  the  other,  between  our  belief 
in  divine  foreknowledge  and  human  freedom,  it  is 
proved  true,  I  think,  that  no  one  has  a  right  to  assert 
the  existence  of  such  a  contradiction,  and  the  necessity 
that  human  reason  should  choose  between  them. 

To  what  conclusion,  then,  does  philosophy  come  in 
this  grand  controversy  as  to  human  freedom  arid  divine 
foreknowledge  ?  To  this,  gentlemen,  that  there  are  two 
things  in  which  we  believe  —  one,  on  the  unquestionable 
authority  of  observation ;  the  other,  on  the  far  weaker 
authority  of  our  reasonings,  without  our  being  able 
clearly  to  explain  how  they  coexist.  And  here  we 
ought,  by  common  consent,  to  leave  the  subject ;  for 
philosophy  should  know  how  to  respect  its  true  limits, 
under  penalty  of  losing  all  claim  to  the  respect  and 
confidence  of  men. 

I  have  now  done  with  the  system  of  necessity,  and 
pass  on  to  the  consideration  of  mysticism. 

Every  philosophical  system  has  its  foundation  and 
ground-work  in  human  nature ;  the  only  thing  difficult 
is,  to  have  such  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  as  will 
enable  us  to  discover  the  root  and  source  of  each 
system.  With  this  knowledge,  we  can  understand, 
thoroughly,  each  opinion;  and  the  principle  once 
grasped,  we  easily  gain  a  clear  understanding  of  its 
consequences.  Vague  and  obscure  as  is  the  system 
of  mysticism,  I  will  yet  endeavor  to  point  out  the 
facts  in  human  nature  from  which  it  originates  and 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  123 

which  it  attempts  to  express;  I  will  invite  your  close 
attention,  for  the  trains  of  thought  to  be  followed  are 
very  subtile. 

Mysticism  rests  on  two  facts,  already  described  in 
the  sketch  that  I  have  given  of  human  nature.  Let 
me  recall  them  to  your  minds.  In  the  first  place, 
then,  I  showed  how  great  the  difference  is  between 

'  O 

the  absolute  destiny  of  man,  as  it  would  result  from 
his  nature,  and  the  actual  destiny  which  an  individual, 
placed  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  attains 
in  this  life.  In  other  words,  I  showed  you,  that,  with 
all  our  efforts,  we  cannot  attain  to  more  than  a  very 
small  part  of  the  good  which  our  nature  craves,  or 
accomplish,  except  in  an  imperfect  degree,  our  destiny. 
In  the  second  place,  I  showed  you,  that  we  cannot, 
in  this  life,  secure  even  that  measure  of  good  which  is 
actually  within  our  reach,  except  on  the  condition  of 
substituting  for  the  natural  action  of  our  faculties 
another  mode  of  action,  whose  characteristic  is  cori 
centration,  and  whose  consequence  is  fatigue. 

From  these  two  facts  it  results,  on  the  one  hand, 
that  human  life  can,  at  the  best,  afford  but  very  im- 
perfect good ;  and,  on  the  other,  that  no  human  being 
can  acquire  even  this  good,  without  an  effort  which  is 
not  natural,  and  which  is  followed  by  a  fatigue  that 
can  be  relieved  only  by  allowing  the  bent  spring  to  be 
relaxed,  and  our  faculties  to  return  to  their  natural 
and  primitive  mode  of  action. 

From  these  two  facts  springs  mysticism.  If  the  only 
means  of  obtaining  any  good  in  this  life  is  an  effort 
which  is  against  nature,  —  and  if,  even  then,  a  man, 
the  most  favored  by  circumstances,  only  secures  the 


124  JOUFFllOY. 

shadow  of  good,  —  is  it  not  plain  that  the  pursuit  and 
acquisition  of  good  is  not  the  end  of  the  present  life, 
and  that  to  hope  or  search  for  it  implies  an  equal  de- 
lusion ?  What  ?  can  a  thing  not  to  be  found  in  life 
really  be  the  end  of  life,  —  a  thing,  whose  shadow 
even  we  cannot  reach,  without  doing  violence  to  our 
nature,  and  submitting  all  our  faculties  to  an  insupport- 
able constraint?  Man  has  truly  an  end  and  destiny  to 
attain;  but  to  seek  it  here  is  folly,  for  our  lot  in  life 
is  disappointment.  To  resign  ourselves  to  our  weak- 
ness, —  to  renounce  all  effort  and  action,  —  to  await 
death,  that  it  may  break  our  fetters,  and  place  us  in 
an  order  of  things  where  the  accomplishment  of  our 
end  will  be  possible,  —  this  is  our  only  reasonable 
course,  our  only  true  vocation. 

It  may  be  proved  that  this  is  the  true  origin  of  the 
system  of  mysticism,  by  the  fact  that  the  historical 
eras,  when  it  has  been  most  fully  developed,  have 
been  precisely  those  in  which  human  efforts  were 
most  discouraged,  by  profound  experience  of  their 
fruitlessness. 

Ages  of  tyranny,  of  skepticism,  and  of  moral  degra- 
dation, have  been  those  in  which  mysticism  has  been 
professed  most  earnestly,  and  actually  appeared  in 
practice  on  the  largest  scale.  The  greatest  develop- 
ment of  mysticism  was  in  the  age  which  immediately 
succeeded  the  introduction  of  Christianity  ;  and  you 
well  know  what  the  state  of  the  world  then  was.  A 
skepticism,  the  most  universal  in  philosophy,  cooper- 
ated with  an  utter  corruption  of  morals,  and  a  most 
degrading  tyranny,  during  this  decline  of  the  Roman 
empire.  Truth,  virtue,  liberty,  seemed  only  words ; 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  125 

every  thing  united  to  prove  to  man  the  futility  of 
effort,  and  thus  to  discourage  it.  Why,  if  truth  could 
not  be  discovered,  should  he  seek  it  ?  Why,  if  there 
were  no  moral  distinctions,  should  he  prefer  one 
course  of  conduct  to  another  ?  Why,  indeed,  should 
he  act  at  all,  if  ages  of  heroism  and  victory  had  but 
served  to  introduce  an  era  of  society  wholly  wretched 
and  inglorious,  under  the  sway  of  weak  and  bloody 
tyrants  ?  Such  was  the  lesson  to  man  which  this  era 
seemed  to  utter.  On  the  other  hand,  a  flood  of  bar- 
barism roared  round  the  gates  of  the  empire;  and 
this  threatening  sign  of  fatal  and  inevitable  ruin  de- 
clared the  vanity  of  earthly  things,  the  emptiness  of 
human  power,  yet  louder,  perhaps,  than  the  voice 
of  the  past  and  the  aspect  of  the  present.  Add  yet 
further,  that  the  exalted  spirituality  of  the  Christian 
faith  gave  a  new  impulse  to  those  minds,  already 
filled  with  contempt  for  earth,  by  its  visions  of  heaven, 
and  you  will  readily  see  that,  if  I  have  truly  pointed 
out  the  principle  of  mysticism,  never  were  circum- 
stances more  favorable  for  its  growth. 

Hence  that  wonderful  passion  for  seclusion  which 
peopled  the  deserts,  which  led  to  the  solitudes  of  the 
Thebais  one  half  the  population  of  Egypt,  and,  de- 
veloping all  the  elements  of  mysticism  contained  in 
Christianity,  perverted  the  true  spirit  of  this  religion, 
and  merged  it  in  effeminate  asceticism.  This  ascetic 
spirit  did  not,  indeed,  triumph,  but  it  sowed  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Christian  church  the  fruitful  seeds  of 
monkish  principles  —  seeds  so  long-lived  and  prolific, 
that  fifteen  centuries  have  not  sufficed  to  exhaust  them, 


126 


JOUFFROY. 


and  which  were  developed  with  redoubled  energy  in 
the  disastrous  era  of  the  middle  ao-es. 

o 

You  can  conceive  how  the  mystics  were  led  to 
form  the  views  of  life  which  I  have  described. 
Grounds  for  such  misconceptions  exist  in  the  facts 
of  our  nature,  and  in  the  circumstances  of  our 
present  lot.  But  they  did  not  rest  here.  For,  with 
such  conceptions  of  the  present  life,  they  had  to 
explain  how  our  lot  became  what  it  is ;  the  mystery 
was  to  be  penetrated  in  which  a  being  is  involved 
who  thus  sees  his  end  and  destiny,  is  endowed  with 
faculties  necessary  for  its  attainment,  and  yet  sees 
himself  placed  in  the  midst  of  external  circumstances 
which  present  insurmountable  obstacles.  This  state 
of  being  is  intelligible  to  those  who  see  in  the 
present  life  a  necessary  scene  of  probation  for  the 
creation  and  education  of  a  moral  nature,  whose 
trials,  therefore,  are  to  be  courageously  met,  and 
actively  surmounted ;  but,  for  those  who  see  only 
evil  in  our  lot,  without  perceiving  its  use  and  object, 
it  is  but  an  extraordinary  phenomenon,  whose  cause 
must  be  sought  in  some  anterior  scene  of  existence. 
Thus  the  doctrine  of  mysticism  brings  with  it  in- 
evitably either  the  doctrine  of  Manicheism,  or  that 
of  the  fall  of  man.  Only  one  or  the  other  view 
can  explain  the  evils  of  life,  if  we  have  not  embraced 
the  idea  that  the  purpose  and  effect  of  these  is  to 
produce  a  moral  greatness  in  man  which  can  exist 
on  no  other  condition.  Thus  we  see  both  doctrines 
strangely  allying  themselves  with  mysticism,  in  the 
faith  of  the  hermits  of  the  Thebais.  The  world, 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  127 

in  their  view,  is  a  place  of  punishment,  where  man 
is  placed  to  expiate  the  sins  committed  by  his  pro- 
genitors, whom  God  had  destined  at  first  for  a  life 
of  perfect  felicity.  To  bear  with  resignation  this 
chastisement  during  life,  and  wait  for  the  hour  of 
deliverance,  they  thought  man's  highest  duty.  But 
the  principle  of  evil,  the  devil  who  tempted  Eve 
in  Paradise,  was  yet  laboring  to  turn  him  away  from 
this  course  of  patient  submission,  and  to  seduce  him 
into  the  follies  of  worldly  activity,  by  the  promise 
of  all  the  goods  which  life  presents,  and  thus  was 
constantly  deceiving  and  tempting  our  nature.  Hence 
the  trials  by  which  the  sainted  anchorites  were  beset 
in  the  desert,  and  the  state  of  perpetual  warfare  in 
which  the  legends  represent  them  as  living.  These 
two  dogmas,  so  closely  associated  with  the  funda- 
mental principle  of  mysticism,  have  maintained  their 
hold  with  it  in  the  midst  of  Christendom.  By  a 
strange  contradiction,  they  remain  side  by  side  with 
the  doctrine  of  probation,  although  directly  opposed 
to  this  great  view  of  Christian  truth,  which  has 
exerted  upon  humanity  so  powerful  and  useful  an 
influence,  and  has  produced  so  happy  and  grand 
a  revolution  in  the  whole  science  of  ethics. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  three  leading  principles 
of  mysticism.  Let  us  look  now  to  its  effects  on 
conduct.  The  principle  once  established,  these  con- 
sequences flow  naturally  and  spontaneously  from  it, 
and  no  sect  of  mystics  has  escaped  their  influence. 
I  will  take,  as  an  illustration,  the  grand  school  of 
anchorites,  who  introduced  the  monastic  life  into 
the  practices  of  the  church.  You  will  thus  compre- 


128  JOUFFROY. 

hend  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  that  singular 
mode  of  existence,  which  presents  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  phenomena  of  Christian  civilization,  and 
which  we  meet  with  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  of 
development  wherever  mysticism  has  prevailed. 
.  I  have  explained  at  length,  in  the  courses  of  the 
preceding  years,  two  classes  of  obstacles  which  here 
impede  human  nature  in  its  attempts  to  accomplish 
its  true  destiny.  This  world,  far  from  being  a  place 
where  all  its  constituent  vital  forces  work  together 
harmoniously,  is,  in  fact,  the  battle-ground  of  their 
contention.  Each  force,  in  its  process  of  develop- 
ment, finds  itself  limited  and  restrained  by  other 
forces,  and,  in  turn,  restrains  them.  All  develop- 
ment here  is  incomplete,  and,  even  in  this  imperfect 
degree,  it  is  the  result  of  the  contest  forever  waging. 
Such  is  the  real  condition,  in  this  world,  of  every 
power,  whether  free  or  necessary ;  such  is  the  con- 
dition of  human  power,  one  of  the  weakest  of  all ; 
and  hence  its  limited  influence.  The  very  organiza- 
tion of  this  world  which  surrounds  us,  the  very 
world  itself,  in  other  words,  is  a  source  of  the  evil 
of  the  present  state,  and  renders  fruitless  all  efforts 
to  attain  our  real  end. 

But  what  is  it  that  makes  us  thus  subject  to  the  out- 
ward world?  What  is  it  that  causes  these  various 
forces  to  conflict  with  our  will,  to  restrain  and  check 
it?  It  is  the  body.  Nothing  external  could  exercise 
any  influence  over  us  but  through  the  body.  As  our 
body  is  at  once  material,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the 
necessary  instrument  by  which  our  faculties  act,  the 
external  world  has  power  over  us  by  influencing  the 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  129 

organs  which  we  are  obliged  to  use.  The  body  is 
doubly  an  evil,  then,  by  weakening  our  faculties 
through  the  external  conditions  it  imposes,  and  by 
giving  all  other  forces  in  nature  control  over  the 
development  of  those  faculties.  Thus,  then,  the 
first  source  of  our  want  of  power  is  the  influence, 
of  the  external  world ;  and  the  second  is  our  bodily 
organization,  by  which  we  are  subjected  to  this 
influence.  The  world  and  the  body  are  the  two 
great  principles  of  evil  here  below ;  these  are  the 
two  grand  obstacles  which  oppose,  in  this  life,  our 
progress  toward  that  final  good  for  which  we  are 
fitted,  and  which  our  nature  craves. 

Admit  this,  and  what  follows  1  We  must  expect 
to  find,  in  the  creed  of  mystics,  an  irreconcilable 
hostility  to  the  world  and  the  flesh.  And  this  is, 
in  fact,  the  very  most  prominent  and  striking  charac- 
teristic of  the  mystical  doctrine  and  course  of  life. 

The  anchorites,  who,  in  the  era  which  we  are 
considering,  peculiarly  represented  the  system  of 
mysticism,  used  every  possible  means  to  destroy  the 
influence  of  the  body ;  they  declared  against  it  a 
perpetual  and  merciless  warfare;  not  only  would 
they  not  gratify  its  lawful  desires,  but  they  macerated 
it,  scourged  it,  and  sought  to  weaken  and  prostrate 
it  by  every  means  in  their  power  ;  they  went  further, 
and  yet  more  to  testify  the  contempt  in  which  they 
held  it,  and  to  show  external  symbols  of  their  hatred, 
they  clothed  themselves  in  garments  which  concealed 
its  proportions,  as  if  it  were  not  worthy  to  appear 
in  the  sight  of  man,  or  to  occupy  his  attention  for 
an  instant.  And,  in  acting  thus,  the  anchorites  not 


130  JOUFFROY. 

only  endeavored  to  manifest  their  hostility  to  the  flesh, 
they  sought  also  to  weaken  the  hold  of  the  world 
upon  the  soul,  by  annihilating,  as  far  as  they  were 
ahle,  the  medium  through  which  its  influence  was 
felt.  They  believed  that  the  spirit  would  become 
•freer,  and  more  independent  of  the  fetters  which 
bound  it  to  earth,  in  proportion  as  the  body  was 
weakened ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  as  the  carnal 
appetites  were  eradicated,  one  avenue  was  closed 
through  which  the  most  attractive  temptations  of  the 
external  world  gained  entrance  to  the  soul.  In  a 
word,  they  endeavored,  with  all  their  strength,  to 
burst  the  ties  which,  by  uniting  the  soul  to  the 
body,  produced  .the  evils  of  the  present  life ;  and 
the  more  they  succeeded,  the  more  did  they  feel 
this  separation  taking  place,  and  that  emancipation 
of  the  soul  for  which  they  sighed  commencing,  although 
it  could  be  completed  only  in  the  hour  of  death. 

This  hostility  to  the  body  they  extended  to  the 
world,  as  the  true  source  of  the  evil  of  which  the 
flesh  was  but  the  instrument.  They  therefore  sepa- 
rated themselves  from  it,  now  by  placing  between 
them  and  it  the  impassable  barrier  of  the  desert, 
now  by  immuring  themselves  in  walls  from  which 
there  was  no  escape,  thus  artificially  producing  that 
isolation  which  they  had  not  the  means  of  seeking 
in  distant  solitudes.  In  the  desert  even,  far  from 
living  together,  they  fled  each  other's  presence  ;  and 
the  greatest  saints  avoided  all  neighborhood  of  man, 
and  retreated  further  and  further  into  the  wilderness, 
as  they  saw  neophytes  appear  in  the  vicinity  of  their 
retreats. 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  131 

Within  the  monastery,  it  was  the  same.  Narrow 
cells  separated  each  from  his  fellow,  and  prevented  all 
possible  approach  or  contact  with  human  beings.  The 
monk  despised  every  interest,  pursuit,  and  affection, 
belonging  to  that  world  which  he  avoided  thus  anx- 
iously. Glory,  ambition,  love,  the  purest  and  most 
natural  emotions,  all  the  occupations  of  life,  all  ties 
which  bind  man  to  his  race,  all  forms,  and  laws, 
and  movements  of  society,  were  by  him  detested  and 
proscribed;  proscribed  as  empty  and  delusive;  de- 
tested as  snares  for  the  credulity  of  imagination,  and 
for  the  blindness  of  instinct.  But  solitude  was  not 
enough ;  he  sought  to  increase  its  horrors  in  propor- 
tion as  he  pushed  to  the  extreme  the  mystical  doctrine 
of  hatred  to  the  outward  world,  and  feared  leaving 
himself  open  to  a  single  temptation  from  desire,  affec- 
tion, or  activity ;  he  dreaded  lest  he  might  be  seduced 
away  from  hostility  to  the  present  life;  from  this 
painful  effort  of  breaking  every  tie  which  bound  him 
to  earth,  and  from  that  contemplative  longing  for  a 
better  world  which  seemed  to  him  the  only  true  state 
of  being  here  below. 

Another  consequence  of  the  principles  of  mysticism, 
not  less  direct  than  hatred  of  the  flesh  and  of  the 
world,  was  contempt  for  action  —  for  action  in  every 
shape  and  mode.  And  the  lives  of  the  mystics  were 
as  true  to  their  principle  in  this  particular  as  in  the 
others  which  I  have  described. 

We  are  impelled  to  action,  gentlemen,  as  you  know, 
by  the  instinctive  tendencies  of  our  nature  demanding 
gratification.  Each  tendency  has  its  peculiar  end, 
and  these  different  ends  determine  the  different  objects 


132  JOUFFROY. 

to  which  human  activity  is  directed.  Different  modes 
of  action  are  to  be  distinguished,  then,  in  our  nature 
Knowledge  is  one  object  of  pursuit ;  hence  the  first 
mode  of  our  activity  —  intellectual  activity.  The  ex- 
ertion of  our  energy  on  the  external  world  is  another 
object;  hence  physical  activity.  Union  with  beings 
who  have  life,  especially  with  those  of  our  own  race, 
is  an  end  also ;  hence  arises  a  third  mode,  which 
we  call  sympathetic  activity.  Thus  the  seeking  of 
knowledge,  the  exercise  of  our  energies  on  the  external 
world,  and  loving,  are  forms  of  human  activity,  as  our 
nature  aspires  to  the  end  for  which  it  was  made,  and 
which  it  is  impelled  to  pursue  in  these  three  direc- 
tions. Life  is  passed  in  this  threefold  pursuit  and 
effort,  in  the  search  for  these  three  kinds  of  good ;  and 
such  is  the  force  of  the  instincts  impelling  us,  such 
the  natural  energy  of  the  faculties  with  which  we  are 
endowed  for  their  gratification,  that,  however  much 
men  strive  to  subdue  them  or  restrain  their  action, 
they  cannot  wholly -succeed. 

And  yet  this  was  the  wish  of  the  mystics ;  for,  ac- 
cording to  their  convictions,  it  was  not  the  will  of 
God  that  these  instincts  should  be  satisfied  in  this 
life ;  and  any  attempt  on  the  part  of  man  to  realize 
their  satisfaction  was,  therefore,  worse  than  error  and 
folly ;  it  was  rebellion  to  the  commands  of  the  Deity, 
a  concession  made  to  the  everlasting  adversary  of  the 
human  race.  Complete  passivity  —  that  is  to  say,  an 
absolutely  impossible  state  —  was  the  ideal  of  perfection 
to  which  they  aspired  with  all  their  power.  With 
such  an  end  proposed  for  their  pursuit,  really  more 
unattainable  than  the  perfect  happiness  which  they 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  133 

rejected,  it  is  curious  to  observe  the  practical  modes 
by  which  the  mystics  sought  its  accomplishment.  Let 
us  begin  with  intellectual  activity. 

We  arrive  at  knowledge,  in  our  present  state,  as 
you  well  know,  by  attention;  and  attention  is  the 
concentration  of  intellect,  that  is  to  say,  an  intellect- 
ual effort.  Despising  the  end,  the  mystic  of  course 
despised  the  means ;  and  looking  upon  science  as  a 
dangerous  deceit,  he  was  bound  to  take  all  means  to 
repress  both  the  natural  curiosity,  which  makes  us 
desire  it,  and  the  intellectual  efforts  through  which  we 
seek  it.  But  how  destroy  this  faculty  of  intelligence? 
It  cannot  be  destroyed.  Of  all  modes  of  human 
activity,  that  of  intellect  is  the  most  difficult  to  repress. 
It  acts  even  when  we  wish  most  to  check  it ;  for  it 
must  act  before  we  can  form  such  a  wish.  Fortu- 
nately, there  are  two  modes  of  the  development  of 
the  intelligent  faculty.  At  one  time  passive,  with 
senses  open  to  impressions  from  the  world,  floating  on 
the  tide  of  surrounding  influences,  giving  itself  up  to 
passing  images,  it  receives  a  knowledge  which  is 
vague,  confused,,  and  uncertain;  at  another,  becoming 
active,  and  uniting  all  its  forces,  applying  them,  as  it 
wills,  to  different  objects,  it  examines,  analyzes,  dis- 
tinguishes, acquiring  precise  information  and  clear, 
consecutive  ideas.  In  the  second  stage  only  is  there 
effort.  In  the  contemplative  state  there  is  none. 
Intellect  is,  then,  idly  following  its  natural  bent ; 
active  indeed,  because  activity  is  its  essence,  but  still 
as  little  active  as  it  possibly  can  be,  because  no  act 
of  the  will  sustains,  directs,  or  concentrates  its  ener- 
gies. It  depends  upon  ourselves  to  suppress  this  act 

VOL.   I.  M 


134  JOUFFROY. 

of  will  or  not,  and,  consequently,  to  confine  to  the 
contemplative  mode,  to  which  we  ourselves  contribute* 
nothing,  all  action  of  the  intellect.  This  the  mystics 
attempted  and  succeeded  in.  All,  especially  the  an 
chorites,  forbade  all  intellectual  effort,  and  recom- 
mended a  life  of  contemplation  as  the  only  lawful 
sphere  of  mental  activity.  In  other  words,  a  contem- 
plative life,  and  contempt  for  all  scientific  research, 
have  been  the  two  characteristic  traits  of  every  mys- 
tical sect,  without  exception. 

Now,  to  what  does  contemplation  lead  ?  Abandon 
yourself  for  a  length  of  time  to  this  passive  state  of 
the  intellect;  give  yourself  up  to  all  ideas  and  images 
which  come  confusedly  and  pass  away,  and  soon  you 
will  feel  your  mind  become  clouded  and  perplexed, 
amid  this  ever-fluctuating  series  of  impressions ;  a 
stupefaction  and  delirium,  in  which  truth  and  error, 
illusion  and  reality,  can  no  longer  be  distinguished, 
will  come  over  you;  and  let  this  state  be  prolonged, 
especially  in  the  night  season,  when  nothing  occurs 
to  interrupt  it,  no  motion,  sound,  or  external  event, 
and  soon  you  will  be  unable  to  tell  whether  you  wake 
or  sleep,  and  will  become  a  prey  to  the  phantoms  and 
chimeras  which  throng  our  dreams.  From  the  state 
of  contemplation  to  revery,  hallucination,  and  de- 
lirium, is  but  a  step ;  this  step  all  sects  of  mystics 
boldly  took.  And  do  not  suppose  that  they  disavowed 
these  consequences.  It  was  a  principal  doctrine  of 
mysticism,  that  the  human  mind  could,  through  con- 
templation, arrive  at  views  of  truth  and  of  actual 
being,  which  it  was  quite  incapable  of,  in  its  ordinary 
condition,  and  could  thus  hold  communications  with 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  135 

the  future,  with  unseen  spirits,  with  God  himself. 
Theurgy  is  the  daughter  of  mysticism;  and,  far  from 
avoiding  these  hallucinations  and  ecstatic  states,  mys- 
ticism sought  them  as  elevated  stages  of  that  contem- 
plative life  which  all  should  strive  to  attain,  and  as 
signal  marks  of  the  favor  of  Heaven  extended  to  the 
saints.  Whence,  now,  this  predilection  of  mysticism 
for  contemplation  1  The  mystic  loved  it,  because,  in 
this  state,  the  mind  was  as  passive  as  it  could  in  its 
nature  be,  and  more  and  more  passive  the  nearer  con- 
templation approached  the  ecstasy  which  was  its  con- 
summation. On  the  same  ground,  and  for  the  same 
reason,  the  mystics  asserted  that  their  intellects  were 
more  clear-sighted  when  they  slept  than  when  they 
were  awake,  infinitely  nearer  to  truth  and  to  God ; 
and  hence  the  respect  they  paid  to  dreams,  and  the 
care  with  which  they  endeavored  to  interpret  them  ; 
whence  you  see  that  mysticism  ended,  necessarily, 
in  substituting  the  visions  of  reveries  for  science,  as 
the  result  of  intellectual  action,  as  it  had  first  substi- 
tuted contemplation  for  attention,  in  its  mode  of 
operation. 

Another  trait  of  the  mystics,  immediately  connected 
with  those  I  have  already  described,  was  their  con- 
tempt for  precise  language;  and  this  consequence  of 
their  principles,  if  not  so  immediate  and  direct,  is 
still  a  necessary  one;  for  a  precise  mode  of  expres- 
sion implies  precise  ideas,  and  these  presuppose  in- 
tellectual effort;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  state 
of  contemplation,  all  ideas  are  suggested  under  the 
form  of  images,  and  images  are  confused ;  their 
knowledge,  then,  was  rather  a  sentiment  than  a  clear 


136  JOUFFROY. 

view,  and  sentiment  forbids  definite  statement.  Pre- 
cision of  language  was,  therefore,  repugnant  to  the 
mystics;  hence  the  obscurity  of  style,  and  the  fond- 
ness for  symbolic  expression,  which  is  peculiarly  their 
characteristic.  This  trait,  trifling  as  it  may  appear 
to  be,  deserved,  nevertheless,  this  passing  notice. 

Intellectual  activity  cannot  be  wholly  subdued.  The 
mystics  were  forced,  therefore,  to  treat  with  it,  and, 
since  they  could  not  wholly  expel  it,  to  diminish,  as 
they  could,  its  power.  Not  so,  however,  with  physical 
activity.  Depending  wholly,  as  this  does,  on  the  will, 
it  is  only  necessary  to  will  its  suppression  to  effect  it. 
Here,  then,  the  system  could  be  put  fully  in  practice ; 
and  the  mystics  did  not  fail  to  do  so.  Physical  inac- 
tion has  been  always  considered,  recommended,  and 
practised  by  them,  as  one  trait  of  the  ideal  life.  To 
escape  from  the  sphere  of  physical  activity,  it  was 
necessary  only  to  withdraw  to  deserts  and  monasteries, 
and  thus  set  themselves  apart  from  all  the  motives  to 
action  which  prompt  men  in  society.  Even  in  these 
retreats,  it  was  not  without  repugnance  and  regret  that 
they  performed  even  the  indispensable  acts  of  life,  and 
usually  intrusted  the  discharge  of  them  to  neophytes, 
who  had  not  reached  the  state  of  perfection.  The 
most  saintly  anchorites  jealously  sought  this  glory  of 
pushing  to  extreme  the  habit  of  physical  inactivity ; 
and  in  the  lives  of  the  most  famous  may  be  found 
instances  of  excesses  of  this  nature  which  can  only 
be  equalled  by  the  Fakirs  —  the  mystical  sect  of  India. 
Together  with  this  inaction,  the  annals  of  the  desert 
and  the  monastery  show  us  their  habit  of  performing 
Ihe  most  painful  toils,  arbitrarily  imposed  or  volun- 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  137 

tarily  undertaken ;  and  they  were  dictated  by  the 
same  spirit  of  desire  to  weaken  the  strength  of  the 
body  and  show  the  vanity  of  human  effort.  For  this 
end,  the  anchorites  of  the  Thebais  imposed  upon 
themselves,  and  upon  those  who  came  to  unite  with 
them,  the  duty  of  traversing  vast  distances,  beneath 
the  burning  sun,  to  draw  water  from  the  Nile.  And 
for  what  object,  think  you  ?  To  water  a  stick  planted 
in  the  sand,  which  could  not  grow.  What  keener 
satire  on  human  activity,  I  ask  you,  —  what  more 
striking  symbol  of  the  fruitlessness  of  effort  could 
be  given,  than  this  painful  toil  for  an  object  so 
frivolous  ?  Thus,  even  in  their  activity,  did  these 
hermits  seek  to  manifest  that  contempt  for  action, 
which  was  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  system 
of  mysticism,  and  which  the  lives  of  its  votaries  man- 
ifested in  a  variety  of  forms. 

Need  I  show  you  how  contempt  for  the  sympathies 
and  affections,  the  other  grand  spring  of  human 
action,  equally  appeared  in  their  conduct  ?  Is  it 
not  plain,  that,  to  withdraw  from  the  world, -and  live 
alone  in  the  desert  or  the  solitude  of  a  cell,  was 
to  burst  at  once  all  social  ties,  and  voluntarily  to 
renounce  them  forever?  There,  as  you  know,  were 
none  to  love ;  no  parent,  spouse,  nor  child ;  no 
brother,  no  friend;  and  there  these  affections,  thus 
rendered  powerless,  were  to  be  utterly  extirpated 
from  the  heart.  This  was  a  condition  of  mystical 
perfection ;  and  they  were  the  greatest  saints,  who 
had  best  succeeded  in  extinguishing  every  sympathetic 
affection  in  their  nature.  Is  it  not  plain,  too,  that 
this  mutilation  of  their  spiritual  being  was  a  necessary 

M2 


138  JOUFFROY. 

consequence  of  their  opinion  as  to  the  present  hie, 
and  the  proper  course  of  human  conduct? 

And  now,  gentlemen,  sum  up  what  remains  of 
human  nature,  thus  perfected  and  sanctified  by  the 
mystical  creed,  and  you  will  see  that  it  is  all  absorbed 
and  condensed  into  one  single  state  of  mind  —  con- 
templation; and,  if  I  might  use  the  expression,  I 
should  say  that  all  issues  and  outlets  of  active  powers, 
desires,  and  faculties  in  the  mind  were  wholly  closed, 
save  this  single  one  of  contemplation.  And  this 
is  left  open,  only  because  it  is  beyond  human  power 
to  close  it. 

In  fact,  mysticism,  availing  itself  of  the  power 
which  God  has  given  us  over  our  faculties  by  the 
exercise  of  will,  used  this  power  to  condemn  them 
to  inaction,  that  is  to  say,  to  suppress  all  our  activity. 
One  faculty  only,  in  one  mode  of  its  action,  resisted 
the  attempt  —  the  intellect ;  and  mysticism',  going 
to  the  utmost  limit  of  its  power,  suppressed  the  one 
mode  of  its  action  which  it  could  reach,  and  tolerated 
the  other  only  because  it  could  not  accomplish  an 
impossibility  in  its  destruction.  Thus  was  all  human 
activity  reduced  to  one  mode  of  intellectual  action, 
namely,  contemplation.  But  still  our  faculties  are 
the  necessary  instruments  for  the  satisfaction  of  our 
natural  instincts.  If,  then,  you  reduce  these  instru- 
ments to  a  state  of  inaction,  all  satisfaction  of  our 
impulses  becomes  impossible.  But,  if  one  of  these 
instruments  is  left  in  action,  this,  and  this  one  alone, 
must  labor  for  their  gratification.  By  thus  absorbing 
the  whole  of  human  activity  in  contemplation,  mysti- 
cism forced  our  whole  nature  - —  the  mind,  the  affections, 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  139 

even  the  body  —  to  seek  in  contemplation  the  gratifi- 
cation of  their  desires.  All  activity,  I  might  say  all 
human  vitality,  finding  this  only  outlet,  and  seeking 
vent  in  this  single  act,  raised  it  at  once  to  its  highest 
stage  of  ecstasy  and  trance ;  and  as,  on  the  other 
hand,  all  the  desires  of  human  nature  sought  in  it 
their  satisfaction,  the  state  of  ecstasy  was  believed 
to  include  all  kinds  of  good  to  which  human  nature 
involuntarily  aspires.  Ecstasy,  to  the  eye  of  the 
mystic,  was  true  science,  moral  perfection,  union  with 
God ;  science,  virtue,  knowledge,  all  were  combined 
in  ecstasy.  It  satisfied  the  intellect,  by  bringing  it 
into  communication  with  the  world  of  truth  which  was 
only  revealed  in  the  state  of  trance.  It  satisfied  the 
activity  of  our  nature,  by  exhibiting  to  it  the  state  of 
perfection  to  which  it  aspired.  It  satisfied  the  affec- 
tions, by  the  communion  it  offered  with  God,  the  Being 
most  amiable  and  lovely  of  all  beings,  —  a  communion 
to  be  yet  closer  in  another  life.  Thus  the  state  of 
ecstasy  satisfied  all  wants,  and  mysticism,  though 
appearing  to  destroy,  really  destroyed  no  power ;  our 
activity,  the  tendencies  of  our  nature,  though  turned 
from  their  natural  pursuits,  were  not  eradicated,  but, 
concentrated  in  contemplation,  they  put  forth  all 
their  energy  there,  and  there  found  the  satisfaction 
they  craved. 

The  most  perfect  symbol  of  mysticism  was  the 
anchorite  who  conceived  the  idea  of  living  upon 
the  top  of  a  column,  and  who  passed  long  years 
there  in  total  inactivity.  Maceration  of  the  body, 
isolation  from  the  world,  absolute  passivity,  entire 


140  JOUFFROY. 

absorption  of  all  the  faculties  and  all  the  energies 
of  the  soul  in  a  trance  of  twenty  years,  —  here  was 
mysticism  imbodied ;  and,  as  if  to  render  the  symbol 
complete,  this  column  was  reared  upon  the  very 
borders  of  the  East,  —  that  land  which,  from  all 
ages,  has  been  the  home  of  mysticism. 

I  feel  sure,  gentlemen,  if  you  have  understood  what 
has  now  been  said,  that  you  will  find  nothing  strange 
in  the  lives  of  the  mystics,  to  which  you  have  now  the 
key  and  the  ready  explanation.  I  hasten  to  consider 
such  consequences  of  this  system  as  are  more  pecu- 
liarly moral. 

What  is  the  strict  consequence  of  this  principle, 
that  man  cannot  accomplish  his  destiny  on  earth, 
and  that  his  highest  duty  is  to  be  resigned  to  his 
condition,  and  to  wait  patiently  for  the  hour  when 
God  will  deliver  him  ?  It  follows,  necessarily,  that 
man  is  to  submit,  and  not  to  act;  and,  as  all  actions 
are  equally  fruitless,  that  there  is  no  moral  distinction 
between  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  is  the 
consequence  to  which  the  mystics,  who  carried  out 
their  opinions  fully,  did  actually  come.  Plotinus 
professed  boldly  this  consequence  of  mystical  doc- 
trines. He  affirmed  that  there  was  no  difference 
between  actions,  —  that  there  could  be  no  good  nor 
evil,  —  and  why?  Because  man  has  no  end  to  pursue 
on  earth,  and  therefore  no  motive  to  determine  him. 
What,  according  to  him,  should  man  be?  A  wholly 
passive  creature,  resigned  and  submissive,  surrendering 
himself  to  a  course  of  events  not  controlled  by  him- 
self, but  emanating  from  God.  Thus  you  see,  that, 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  141 

by  the  confession  of  mystics  themselves,  their  system 
led  directly  to  a  denial  that  man  could  have  any 
duties  in  the  present  life. 

If  any  further  proof  is  needed  of  the  truth  of  this 
assertion,  it  may  be  found  in  the  conduct  of  another 
class  of  mystics,  which,  for  the  honor  of  humanity 
be  it  said,  was  infinitely  smaller  than  the  austere 
class.  Setting  out  from  the  principle  that  there  is 
no  moral  difference  between  actions,  these  men  were 
led,  not  to  inactivity,  but  to  licentiousness,  and 
scrupled  not  to  gratify  every  passion,  whether  bodily 
or  mental,  and  abandon  themselves  without  restraint 
to  the  grossest  indulgence.  Of  what  importance, 
in  truth,  is  the  conduct  we  pursue  here  on  earth, 
if  we  have  been  placed  here  only  to  exist  for  a 
time,  while  awaiting  a  higher  life?  Why,  with  such 
convictions,  should  we  desire  a  man  to  resist  the 
invitations  of  pleasure,  and  prefer  a  virtue  of  which 
he  has  no  conception,  when  he  feels  himself  under 
no  obligation,  present  or  future,  to  do  one  thing 
rather  than  another  ?  Obligation  is  destroyed  utterly 
by  the  principle  of  mysticism ;  and  it  is  therefore 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  the  systems  of  belief 
through  which  the  human  mind  has  been  brought 
to  a  misconception  of  the  law  of  obligation. 

It  remains  for  me  to  show,  in  a  few  words,  that, 
if  such  are  the  legitimate  consequences  of  mysticism, 
the  principle  itself  is  false,  and  consequently  inad- 
missible. 

It  is  true,  then,  —  and  once  again  observe,  that 
every  system  has  some  truth  for  its  foundation, — 
it  is  perfectly  true,  that  man  cannot  attain  the  highest 


142  JOUFFROY. 

good,  and  the  complete  destiny  which  his  nature 
promises;  and  that  the  degree  of  good  which  is 
accessible  must  be  gained  by  effort,  that  is  to  say, 
by  painful,  self-imposed  restraint.  This  is  true.  I?ut 
the  consequence  which  the  mystics  deduce  from  this 
is  false.  Let  us  suppose  that  man,  as  he  came  from 
the  hands  of  his  Maker,  had  been  placed  in  circum- 
stances entirely  different  from  those  of  the  present 
life,  which  presented  no  obstacle  to  the  full  satis- 
faction of  his  nature,  and  the  complete  development 
of  his  faculties,  —  in  circumstances,  that  is  to  sayy 
which  would  have  allowed  of  his  becoming  imme- 
diately and  completely  happy,  without  any  exertion 
on  his  own  part,  —  what  would  have  been  the  con- 
sequence ?  Man  would  have  always  remained  a  thing, 
and  would  never  have  become  what  now  it  is  his 
chief  glory  to  be,  —  for  it  renders  him  like  to  Deity, — 
a  person.  His  condition  would  be  as  follows :  by  the 
mere  fact  of  existence,  his  natural  tendencies  would 
be  developed,  and,  impelled  by  them,  his  faculties 
would  begin  to  act,  and,  without  effort,  would  secure 
for  the  passions  the  good  they  craved.  His  nature 
would  be  happy,  I  will  grant;  it  would  never  know 
the  pain  which  it  now  experiences  from  the  privation 
of  good,  nor  the  fatigue  which  now  is  the  condition 
of  existence;  but  man  would  have  no  part  in  deter- 
mining his  own  destiny.  Never  would  he  know  its 
true  glory,  never  deserve  its  fulfilment.  It  is  this  very 
difficulty  which  we  meet  with,  in  attempting  to  ac- 
complish our  destiny,  that  awakens  us,  —  makes  us 
comprehend  our  real  end,  discover  the  means  of 
attaining  it,  take  command  of  ourselves,  govern  our 


SYSTEM    OF    MYSTICISM.  143 

faculties,  and  restrain  our  passions,  that  we  may 
succeed  in  the  attempt,  —  it  is  this  very  difficulty, 
in  a  word,  which  calls  out  the  personality  of  our 
being ;  for  all  these  acts  are  acts  of  our  personality  — 
'.he  elements  which  constitute  us  persons.  And  it 
»s  in  becoming  a  person  that  we  become  a  cause  •  - 
a  cause  properly  so  called  —  a  free  cause,  intelligent, 
having  an  end  and  plan,  foreseeing,  deliberating, 
resolving,  capable  of  merit  or  demerit,  and  responsible 
for  acts,  —  in  a  word,  something  like  to  God  —  a 
moral  and  rational  agent  —  a  man.  If  any  one 
prefers,  to  such  a  destiny  as  this  which  the  present 
life  affords,  the  state  of  a  watch,  endowed  with 
sensation,  and  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  feeling  within 
it  the  operation  of  unimpeded  movements,  in  which 
it  has  no  agency  itself,  I  will  not  dispute  the  point 
with  him.  But,  for  myself,  I  cannot  hesitate ;  I 
prefer  infinitely  the  first,  and  thank  God  that  he 
has  allotted  it  to  me.  From  this  view  of  life,  it 
would  appear  that  our  present  condition  is  not  one 
of  punishment,  in  which  we  are  placed  to  expiate 
some  unknown  sin  committed  by  our  sires,  but  a 
place  of  probation,  into  which  we  were  brought 
that  we  might  become  like  God  —  moral  persons  — 
intelligent,  rational,  and  free.  If  we  could  conceive 
of  a  condition  different  from  our  present  one,  exempt 
from  its  miseries,  in  which,  nevertheless,  this  moral 
creation  could  take  place,  then  might  we  doubt  this 
explanation  of  our  present  lot,  and  accuse  God  of 
severity.  But,  as  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  how 
this  admirable  creation  of  personality  could  take 
place,  except  under  such  conditions,  the  explanation 


144  JOUFFROY. 

holds  good,  and  God's  ways  are  justified.  If  this 
is  so,  gentlemen,  then  are  there  duties  in  our  present 
state  of  being;  life  is  not  intended  for  rest  and  inac- 
tion, but  for  the  creation  of  personality,  by  the  exer- 
cise of  intellect  and  energy,  that  is,  by  virtue.  The 
system  of  mysticism  is,  then,  completely  erroneous 
and  false,  although  it  had  its  origin  in  two  actual 
facts  of  human  nature. 


SYSTEM    OP    PANTHEISM.  145 


LECTURE   VI. 

SYSTEM  OF  PANTHEISM. 

GENTLEMEN, 

I  HAVE  exhibited  to  you  two  of  the  systems, 
whose  principles  imply  the  impossibility  of  a  law  of 
human  obligation  —  the  systems  of  necessity  and  of 
mysticism;  and  have  told  you  that  there  were  two 
other  systems  which  tend  to  the  same  conclusion, 
namely,  pantheism  and  skepticism. 

In  the  present  lecture,  I  wish  to  direct  your  atten- 
tion to  the  first  of  these  —  the  system  of  pantheism. 
It  has  appeared  under  different  forms,  both  in  ancient 
and  modern  times,  and  in  every  era  has  received 
various  modifications  from  the  different  philosophers 
who  have  advocated  it  It  would  not  be  difficult  to 
distinguish,  under  all  these  different  forms,  the  es- 
sential principles  of  pantheism;  and  this,  perhaps, 
would  be  the  proper  course;  but  I  cannot  resist  the 
temptation  of  giving  you  an  idea  of  the  form  under 
which  the  genius  of  Spinoza  has  presented  it.  And 
I  will  attempt,  therefore,  by  an  exposition  of  the 
system  of  Spinoza,  to  introduce  you  to  a  knowledge 
ol  the  general  principles  of  pantheism.  Two  reasons 

VOL.    I  N 


146 


JOUFFROY. 


determine  me  to  take  this  course :  first,  Spinoza's 
doctrines,  which  all  speak  of,  though  few  have  taken 
the  pains  to  study  and  comprehend  them,  are  ex- 
ceedingly obscure;  and,  secondly,  no  one  among  the 
philosophers  who  have  professed  pantheism,  has  de- 
veloped its  principles  with  sucli  ar*  exact  method, 
and  in  so  original  and  perfect  a  shape. 

One  work  only  of  Spinoza's  was  published  during 
his  life-time,  which  bore  the  title  Tractatus  theo- 
logico-politicus.  This  was  not  so  much  an  exposition 
of  his  system,  as  it  was  a  half-philosophical,  half-his- 
torical treatise,  based  on  its  principles.  But  after  his 
death,  under  the  title  of  "  Posthumous  Works  of 
Spinoza,"  several  of  his  writings  were  published ;  and 
in  these  it  is  that  we  find  his  doctrines  fully  set  forth. 
His  system  is  particularly  unfolded  in  the  Ethica, 
Ordine  Geomctrico  demomtrata,  et  in  Quinque  Partcs 
distincta.  This  work  comprises,  in  five  books,  the 
most  rigorous  and  complete,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
the  most  obscure  exposition  of  pantheism  ever  given. 
In  the  First  Book,  De  Deo,  Spinoza  has  defined 
the  idea  which  we  should  form  of  God.  In  the 
Second,  De  Natura  ct  Origins  Mentis,  he  has 
deduced,  from  the  idea  of  God,  the  idea  which  we 
should  hold  of  man.  In  the  Third,  De  Natura  et 
Origine  Affectuum,  the  philosopher  has  explained 
the  mechanism  of  the  passions,  which,  in  his  view, 
embraces  the  operation  of  all  phenomena  in  human 
nature.  In  the  Fourth,  De  Servitute  Humana,  seu 
de  Affectuum  Viribus,  taking  for  his  point  of  de- 
parture the  laws  of  human  nature  which  he  had 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  147 

before  described,  he  shows  the  necessary  order  of 
its  development,  and  the  degree  in  which  necessity 
influences  the  will  of  man.  And,  finally,  in  the 
Fifth  Book,  De  Potentia  Intellectus,  sen  de  Libertate 
Humana,  Spinoza  has  endeavored  to  show  the  nature 
and  operation  of  free-will.  This  portion  of  the 
work  is  extremely  weak,  and  goes  further,  if  I 
mistake  not,  than  the  principles  of  his  system,  ad- 
mitted in  their  strictness,  will  allow.  Such  is  the 
plan  of  the  work.  First,  God ;  next,  man ;  then, 
the  laws  of  his  nature;  —  these  established,  the  in- 
fluence of  necessity  first,  and,  next,  the  operation 
of  free-will,  in  this  nature;  —  such  is  the  plan  of  the 
Ethica.  On  this  foundation  he  has  reared  a  system 
of  politics  and  ethics,  in  a  second  work,  also  pub- 
lished, which  is,  unfortunately,  but  a  fragment.  It 
is  entitled  Tractatus  Politicus,  in  quo  demonstratur 
quomodo  Societas,  ubi  Imperium  Monarcliicum  Locum 
liabet,  sicut  ct  ca  ubi  Optimi  impcrant,  debct  institui 
ne  in  Tyrannidem  labatur,  et  ut  Pax,  Libertasque 
Civium  inviolata  mancat.  In  these  two  works,  es- 
pecially in  the  first,  are  we  to  look  for  the  system  of 
Spinoza. 

Spinoza's  method  is  as  follows :  —  He  begins,  as 
geometricians  do,  with  the  explanation  of  certain 
definitions  and  axioms ;  he  then  proceeds  to  announce, 
successively,  different  propositions,  which  he  demon- 
strates, and  thence  passes  in  course  to  the  scholia 
and  corollaries;  as  he  advances,  each  new  demonstra- 
tion implies  the  preceding  one,  and  refers  to  it ;  so 
that,  unless  the  propositions  already  proved,  and  the 
demonstration  of  them,  are  distinctly  kept  in  mind, 


J48  JOUFFROY. 

it  is  impossible  to  comprehend  what  follows.  This 
is  the  cause  of  the  difficulty  in  understanding  the 
work.  And  it  would  be  somewhat  presumptuous, 
even  after  the  most  attentive  study,  to  assert  that 
we  understand  Spinoza  thoroughly.  In  this  case, 
as  in  all  cases  where  the  attempt  is  made  to  apply 
mathematical  forms  of  reasoning  to  subjects  for  which 
they  are  unsuitable,  the  geometrical  method  serves 
only  to  render  the  exposition  complicated  and  obscure. 
In  the  summary  sketch  of  the  system  which  I  am 
about  to  give,  I  can  touch  upon  only  the  principal 
points  of  the  system ;  it  would  require  a  course 
of  many  months  to  give  you  a  thorough  and  detailed 
description  of  it.  In  thus  limiting  myself,  I  cannot 
promise  that  what  I  say  will  be  perfectly  clear  and 
exact.  Such  a  promise  would  imply  that  there  was 
nothing  contradictory  in  the  system  itself,  which  is 
not  my  opinion;  and  it  would  suppose,  also,  that 
I  have  a  perfectly  distinct  idea  of  it  myself,  which 
is  not  the  case;  for  I  am  obliged  to  confess  that, 
after  the  most  attentive  study  that  I  have  been  able 
to  give  it,  there  are  several  portions  of  the  system 
which  still  leave  me  in  doubt,  and  to  which  I  must 
give  a  yet  longer  examination.  But  it  will  be  suffi- 
cient, for  the  object  we  have  in  view,  that  you  should 
seize  the  chief  outlines  of  the  system;  and  I  shall 
have  done  something  towards  enabling  you  to  com- 
prehend its  grand  and  obscure  doctrines,  if  I  awaken 
in  you  the  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  it,  and 
put  you  in  the  right  way  to  approach  the  study  of  it. 

Spinoza   distinguishes   three   classes   of  existences, 
The  first  class  are  those  which  appear  to  us  to  have 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  149 

a  real  existence,  while  yet  they  can  subsist  only 
through  and  in  some  other  being.  The  qualities 
of  oody,  and  whatever  we  call  attributes,  properties,, 
phenomena,  effects,  compose  this  first  class  ;  they  are 
never  seen  isolated,  and  possessed  of  independent 
existence,  but  always  associated  and  united  with 
something  else,  through  which  they  have  their  being, 
and  separated  from  which  we  cannot  conceive  of 
them  as  having  any  being  at  all.  It  is  not  thus 
with  the  second  class.  These  do  appear  to  have  an 
existence  of  their  own,  and  seem  independent  of 
other  beings;  they  ape  actual  being,  as  Spinoza 
says;  they  are,  for  example,  all  bodies  which  we 
see  around  us  —  man  himself.  But,  when  we  re- 
flect upon  it,  we  find  that  all  such  things  have 
once  begun .  to  exist,  and  that  they  cease  to  exist ; 
in  a  word,  we  discover  that  it  is  not  by  themselves 
and  of  themselves  that  they  hold  and  continue  their 
existence.  Man,  for  example,  feels  that  he  did  not 
originate  his  own  being ;  that  he  does  not  preserve 
it ;  that  he  has  not  the  power  of  continuing  it ; 
and  that,  therefore,  existence  is  not  essential,  but 
accidental  in  him.  Although,  therefore,  such  things 
do  appear  to  exist  independently,  yet  it  is  but  an 
appearance  ;  and  we  find  that,  in  truth,  the  existence 
which  is  in  them  is  not  of  them. 

Existences  of  these  two  classes  are  all  which  fall 
within  the  sphere  of  our  observation.  But  reason 
goes  beyond  them,  and,  reflecting  that  the  existence 
of  all  such  beings  as  we  gain  a  knowledge  of  through 
observation  is  a  derived  one ;  that  it  is  accidental 
and  transient  .in  them;  that  none  of  them  possess 

N2 


150  JOUFFROY. 

it  as  their  essence;  —  concludes  that  somewhere  there 
must  be  a  self-existent  being.  Hence  the  idea  of  a 
third  class,  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  which  19 
self-existence. 

It  is  this  third  class  which  Spinoza  first  considers  : 
and  he  proves  at  once  that  there  cannot  be  more 
than  one  such  being.  For,  says  he,  beings  are  dis- 
tinguished by  their  attributes.  Now,  what  do  these 
attributes  manifest  1  The  essential  nature  of  the 
being.  If,  then,  two  beings  had  the  same  essence, 
they  would  have  the  same  attributes,  of  necessity  ; 
they  could  not  then  be  distinct  from  one  another ; 
they  would  not  be  two,  but  one.  We  cannot  suppose, 
therefore,  that  there  are  two  beings  whose  essence  is 
self-existence.  The  being  whose  essence  is  existence, 
then,  is  one ;  and,  as  we  can  only  properly  call  that 
a  substance  which  is  self-existent,  there  is  but  one 
substance,  which  is  God. 

The  unity  of  substance  being  thus  proved,  Spinoza 
demonstrates  successively  that  it  is  necessary  and 
infinite.  It  is  necessary,  because,  to  conceive  of  that 
which  is  self-existent  as  not  being,  is  to  annihilate  it; 
and  it  is  infinite,  because,  as  it  is  possessed  of  all 
being,  nothing  can  exist  beyond  itself.  To  be  finite, 
it  must  be  limited  by  some  other  being;  and,  as  it 
contains  all  existence,  nothing  which  does  exist  can 
be  exterior  to  it,  or  limit  it. 

Unity,  necessity,  and  infinity  of  substance,  being 
thus  demonstrated,  Spinoza  proves  yet  further  that 
being  is  eternal,  since  it  is  necessary  and  infinite ; 
independent,  since  it  is  one  and  infinite ;  and,  finally, 
that  it  is  simple  and  indivisible.  For,  if  it  was 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  151 

composed  of  parts,  he  Says,  these  parts  would  be 
of  the  same  nature,  or  of  a  different  one.  If  they 
were  of  the  same  nature,  then  there  would  be  several 
beings  essentially  self-existent,  which  has  been  proved 
impossible ;  and,  if  its  parts  were  of  a  different  nature, 
taken  together  they  would  not  be  equal  to  the  whole, 
and  would  not  produce  it.  Spinoza  enters  fully 
into  a  discussion  of  these  essential  properties  of  the 
one  substance,  and  demonstrates  them  successively. 
Obliged  as  I  am  to  limit  myself,  I  cannot  follow  him 
in  the  developments  of  his  reasoning. 

God  being  thus  self-existent,  his  essence  being 
existence,  and  the  one  substance  being  endowed  with 
all  the  properties  which  I  have  mentioned,  Spinoza 
next  proceeds  to  inquire  whether  the  being,  thus 
proved  to  have  extension,  has  also  thought ;  and  he 
shows  that  it  is  impossible  to  attribute  to  him  ex- 
clusively either  extension  or  thought.  For,  he  argues, 
if  the  self-existent  being  was  in  his  essence  exclusively 
thought,  then  it  would  follow  that  there  could  be 
no  extension  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  his  essence 
was  exclusively  extension,  it  would  then  follow  that 
there  could  be  no  thought.  Consequently,  thought 
arid  extension  must  be  considered  as  attributes  of  the 
same  being.  Since  this  being  is  infinite,  all  his 
attributes  must  be  so  too ;  and  thought  and  extension, 
therefore,  are  the  infinite  attributes  of  this  being. 

Spinoza  admits,  that  it  is  not  according  to  the 
common  idea  to  attribute  thought  and  extension  to 
the  same  being ;  but  he  does  not  respect  this  prejudice. 
What  can  be  more  different,  he  says,  than  a  round 
foyn  arid  a  square  one?  And  yet  both  are  modes 


152  JOUFFROY. 

of  the  same  thing,  namely,' extension.  The  idea  of 
substance  implies  only  one  property,  that  of  exist- 
ence ;  and  existence  is  as  necessarily  implied  by 
extension  and  by  thought,  as  extension  is  by  a  round 
form  or  a  square  one. 

We  have  an  idea  of  these  two  attributes  of  being, 
because  our  observation  embraces  extended  substances 
and  thinking  substances.  But  these  cannot  be  the 
only  two  attributes  of  the  self-existent  being,  for  as 
he  is  infinite  he  must  have  an  infinity  of  attributes. 
It  is,  then,  a  characteristic  of  the  self-existent  being, 
that  he  has  an  infinity  of  attributes,  which  are  infinite, 
each  in  its  own  sense,  and  which  all  manifest,  in  a 
peculiar  way,  the  essence  of  this  being,  which  is 
existence.  Thus  a  being  who  is  one,  simple,  eternal, 
infinite,  with  an  infinity  of  attributes,  which  all 
express  in  some  particular  manner,  the  essential 
character  of  this  being,  —  existence,  and  among  these 
attributes,  extension  and  thought,  the  only  two  of 
which  we  have  any  knowledge;  —  such  a  being,  ac- 
cording to  Spinoza,  is  God,  in  the  only  idea  we  can 
form  of  him ;  and  this  idea  is  the  fundamental  one 
of  his  system. 

God  being  the  only  substance,  and  comprehending 
in  himself  all  existence,  it  follows  that  nothing  exists 
except  through  him  and  in  him  ;  or,  in  other  words, 
that  he  is  the  inherent  cause  of  all,  or  rather  the 
substance  of  all  which  has  being.  There  is  not,  and 
cannot  be,  then,  more  than  one  being,  which  is  God, 
and  the  universe  is  only  an  infinitely  varied  manifes- 
tation of  the  infinite  attributes  of  this  being.  Nothing 
then,  which  includes  existence,  says  Spinoza,  can  be 


SYSTEM    OF     PANTHEISM.  153 

denied  of  God  ;  and  whatever  includes  it  appertains 
to  him  and  comes  from  him.  God  is  not  only,  then, 
the  cause  which  originates  all  existence  ;  he  is  also  the 
cause  which  sustains  it  in  being ;  in  other  words, 
he  is  at  once  cause  and  substance  of  all  that  is. 
Beside  God  —  if  any  thing  can  be  said  to  exist  beside 
him  —  are  only  his  attributes ;  and  beside  these  attri- 
butes, there  can  be  nothing  except  different  modes 
of  their  manifestation.  God,  therefore,  who  is  the 
only  substance,  the  infinite  attributes  of  this  sub- 
stance, and  the  modes  of  manifestation  of  these 
attributes,  are  the  only  possible  existences.  There 
is  and  can  be  nothing  more. 

Spinoza  next  inquires  as  to  the  manner  in  which 
this  necessary  being,  whose  essence  is  existence, 
develops  himself;  and  proves  that,  being  in  himself 
necessary,  he  can  only  act  through  and  by  the  neces- 
sary laws  of  his  nature,  and,  consequently,  that  he 
cannot  be  free  in  the  sense  in  which  we  understand 
that  word.  He  ridicules  the  idea  which  we  form  of 
God,  as  of  a  being  who  acts  for  a  certain  end,  and 
because  he  wills  to  accomplish  that  end,  but  who  could 
yet  prefer  another,  and,  consequently,  act  in  another 
way.  He  finds  this  idea  wholly  incompatible  with 
the  idea  he  has  formed  of  such  a  being,  which  he 
regards  as  the  only  legitimate  idea ;  and  he  affirms 
that  it  inevitably  follows,  from  the  necessary  nature  of 
such  a  being,  that  all  the  acts  and  ideas,  which  are 
successively  developed  in  him,  arise  necessarily ;  so 
that  nothing  which  originates  from  him  is  produced  by 
free  choice ;  and  the  word  will^  therefore,  in  its  com- 
mon acceptation,  cannot  be  attributed  to  him.  And 


154  JOUFFROY. 

yet  Spinoza  asserts  that,  in  another  sense  of  the  word 
liberty,  the  sense  in  which  he  always  employs  it, 
God  is  the  only  free  being.  In  truth,  he  says,  all 
thoughts,  acts,  and  possible  developments  of  God, 
emanate  from  his  own  peculiar  nature,  and  not  from 
the  influence  of  another  nature  acting  upon  him. 
God  is,  then,  free,  in  the  sense  that  whatever  he  does 
is  determined  solely  by  the  laws  of  his  own  nature 
and  essential  character.  The  nature  of  man  being 
limited,  as  we  constantly  see  it,  his  acts  are  deter- 
mined by  external  causes,  and  not  by  himself;  and 
those  causes  depend  on  others,  and  yet  others,  till 
they  are  traced  back  to  God,  while  the  acts  of  God 
are  determined  only  by  his  own  nature.  The  acts 
of  God,  therefore,  are  at  once  free  and  necessary, 
and  free,  for  the  very  reason  that  God  is  a  necessary 
being.  But,  as  you  readily  see,  there  is  no  similarity 
between  this  liberty  which  Spinoza  attributes  to 
God,  and  liberty  as  we  have  conceived  of  it. 

It  follows,  from  this  view,  that  in  God  there  can 
be  neither  moral  good  nor  evil.  For  moral  good 
and  evil  imply  a  choice  between  different  courses 
of  conduct ;  and,  since  God  acts  through  the  necessary 
laws  of  his  nature,  he  cannot  but  do  what  he  actually 
does  ;  cannot,  consequently,  act  with  a  view  to  a  cer- 
tain end,  therefore,  nor  with  a  purpose  to  accomplish 
it ;  and  he  cannot,  therefore,  be  either  morally  good 
or  morally  bad ;  and,  in  attributing  to  him,  in  an 
infinite  degree,  the  moral  qualities  which  we  are 
conscious  of  ourselves,  we  indulge  fancies  wholly 
unworthy  of  the  dignity  of  God,  and  incompatible 
with  his  nature.  God  wills  not ;  acts  not  from  de- 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  155 

has  no  desire,  passion,  nor  disposition.  God 
is;  and,  this  once  admitted,  all  that  originates  from 
him  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  his  being. 

If  God's  nature  is  developed  thus  necessarily,  and 
if  nothing  exists  which  does  not  spring  from  him, 
it  follows  that  nothing  which  is  accidental  can  exist 
or  occur.  In  other  words,  all  finite  existences  and 
their  acts,  are  made  and  caused  by  the  necessary 
laws  of  the  divine  nature,  —  God  producing  directly 
whatever  is  derived  immediately  from  his  nature 
and  infinite  attributes,  and  indirectly  the  finite  modes 
of  being  of  these  attributes.  We  call  that  contingent 
and  accidental,  says  Spinoza,  of  which  we  cannot 
comprehend  the  necessity;  but  all  which  does  happen, 
must  happen,  and  happen,  too,  exactly  in  that  way. 
Hence,  from  the  Same  principles,  it  appears  that  the 
world  is  eternal,  and  that  the  idea  of  creation  is 
chimerical ;  for  that  which  at  any  time  did  not  exist, 
could  never  have  begun  to  exist,  arid  there  can  be 
nothing  beside  the  being  who  is  one  and  infinite. 

Perhaps,  from  this  one  might  be  led  to  suppose 
that,  therefore,  the  universe  is  God,  and  that  God 
is  only  the  universe.  This  opinion  Spinoza  earnestly 
repels.  The  universe,  he  says,  is  not  God,  but  only 
the  necessary  modes  of  being  of  his  attributes.  God 
is  one,  simple,  infinite ;  his  modes  of  being  are 
diverse,  complex,  finite.  God  is  a  necessary  being 
in  a  twofold  manner;  because  he  is  self-existent, 
and  because  he  cannot  be  conceived  of  as  not 
existing ;  his  modes  of  being  are  necessary,  only 
because  they  are  derived  necessarily  from  his  laws  ; 
but  in  one  sense  they  are  contingent,  that  is, 


156  JOUFFROV. 

can  be  conceived  of  either  as  being  or  not  being. 
God  is  equally  distinct  from  his  attributes ;  God  is 
infinite,  in  the  absolute  sense  of  that  word  ;  his  attri- 
butes, although  infinite,  each  in  its  own  way.,  are 
really  finite,  since  they  are  many,  and  one  limits 
the  other,  each  expressing,  under  one  face  only,  the 
essence  of  God,  which  is  existence.  The  modes  are 
to  the  attributes  what  the  attributes  are  to  God ; 
and  as  these  attributes  are  only  manifestations  of  God, 
and  finite  in  relation  to  him,  so  the  different  modes 
of  each  attribute  express  only  that  attribute,  and 
are  finite,  not  only  in  relation  to  God,  but  also  in 
relation  to  that  attribute. 

It  follows,  from  the  relation  here  described,  between 
God  and  his  attributes,  that,  as  each  of  them  is  only 
a  manifestation  of  God's  nature,  which  is  in  itself 
one,  God  can  be  conceived  of  now  under  one  of 
these  attributes,  and  now  under  another,  but  still 
as  remaining  himself,  simple,  and  unchanged,  amidst 
the  diversity  of  attributes,  which  are  only  different 
manifestations  of  one  nature,  and  different  develop- 
ments of  one  cause.  If  this  is  so,  there  must  be  a 
perfect  harmony  and  correspondence  between  the 
series  of  the  successive  modes  of  one  of  these  attri- 
butes, and  the  series  of  the  successive  modes  of  all 
the  others.  This  Spinoza  affirms,  and  he  demonstrates 
it  in  the  case  of  the  two  attributes  of  God,  with  which 
alone  we  are  acquainted  —  thought  and  extension. 

The  modes  of  thought  are  ideas,  and  the  condition 
of  every  idea  in  God,  as  in  us,  must  be  something 
objective.  What  can  be  objective  to  the  thought 
of  God  ?  Only  his  own  being,  that  is  to  say,  his 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  157 

essence,  and  all  which  necessarily  arises  from  it.  The 
idea  of  God,  then,  is  one  and  infinite,  considered 
in  relation  to  the  essence  of  God,  which  is  one  and 
infinite;  but  it  is  manifold  in  relation  to  the  different 
attributes  of  God.  Hence  the  modes  of  the  thought 
of  God,  or,  in  other  words,  the  series  of  his  ideas. 
As  the  series  of  the  ideas  of  God  represent  the 
successive  modes  of  his  different  attributes,  the  order 
and  connection  of  the  one  must  be  reciprocally  the 
same  as  that  of  the  other.  What  God  does  as  a 
being  having  extension,  he  thinks  as  a  being  pos- 
sessed of  intelligence ;  and  what  he  thinks  as  an 
intelligent  being,  he  does  as  a  being  having  exten- 
sion ;  the  series  of  his  acts  and  that  of  his  ideas 
being  determined  by  the  same  necessity,  or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  the  idea  and  the  act  being  only  the 
same  phenomenon  under  a  twofold  aspect,  as  thought 
and  extension  are  one  being  under  two  different 
manifestations.  The  circle  is  a  mode  of  God  as 
he  is  possessed  of  extension ;  the  idea  of  a  circle 
is  the  corresponding  mode  of  God  as  thought ;  and 
to  these  two  modes  there  must  be  a  corresponding 
mode  in  every  other  possible  attribute  of  God. 
Whether  we  conceive,  therefore,  of  God's  nature 
under  the  attribute  of  extension  or  of  thought,  or 
of  any  other  attribute,  there  will  always  be  the 
same  series,  order,  connection,  arid  necessary  devel- 
opment. 

But  the   thoughts  of  God  have  not  only  the  prop- 
erty of  representing  all  his  other  attributes  and  their 
modes ;    they    can    also   represent   themselves.      God, 
in   other  words,  thinks    not  only  of  his  essence,   and 
VOL.  i.  o 


158  JOUFFROY. 

of  all  which  issues  from  it,  but  also  of  his  own 
thoughts ;  and  this  must  be  so,  for  otherwise  his 
ideas  would  be  less  extensive  than  his  nature,  and 
he  would  be  ignorant  of  one  of  his  own  attributes  — 
intelligence.  The  divine  thought,  then,  is  conscious 
of  itself  and  of  its  modes,  in  the  same  way  that  it  has 
knowledge  of  all  the  other  attributes  and  modes  of 
God.  And  this  property  of  self-consciousness  which 
belongs  to  thought  it  preserves  universally.  It  is 
essential  to  its  nature. 

These  considerations,  as  to  the  nature  and  being 
of  God,  and  much  else  on  the  same  subject,  which 
I  omit,  are  exhibited  in  the  First  Book  of  the 
"  Ethics,"  and,  in  the  first  part  of  the  Second  Book. 
I  will  now  proceed,  having  thus  given  you  an  idea 
of  his  reasoning  as  to  the  laws  and  necessary  nature 
of  God,  to  show  you  how  all  bodies  and  man  are 
viewed  in  Spinoza's  system. 

We  have  seen  the  manner  in  which  Spinoza,  ab- 
stracting the  idea  of  existence  from  those  of  extension 
and  of  thought,  proceeds  to  the  idea  that  God  is  a 
being  whose  essence  is  existence,  of  whom  thought 
and  extension  are  only  attributes.  By  the  same 
process  of  reasoning,  applied  to  what  we  call  body 
and  spirit,  he  shows  that  these  two  pretended  entities 
are  only  modes  of  thought  and  of  extension. 

Let  us  take,  he  says,  any  body ;  for  example,  some 
wax.  It  has  this,  in  common  with  all  other  bodies, 
that  it  is  extended ;  but,  evidently,  this  is  not  its 
characteristic,  and,  consequently,  riot  its  constituent 
element ;  for  then  it  would  follow  that  whatever 
is  extended  is  wax.  Extension,  then,  is  simply  the 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  159 

ground-work  of  body ;  and  that  which  constitutes 
each  particular  body,  is  a  certain  manner  of  extension, 
or  of  this  something  which  all  bodies  have  in  common. 
A  body  of  any  kind,  then,  is  not  extension,  but  a 
certain  mode  of  extension ;  and,  as  extension  is  an 
attribute  of  God,  it  follows  that  all  bodies  are  only 
different  modes  of  this  attribute  of  God. 

It  is  exactly  the  same  with  spirits.  The  common 
property  of  all  spirits  is  thought ;  but  it  is  not  this 
which  distinguishes  and  constitutes  different  spirits. 
For,  if  any  supposed  spirit  was  thought,  and  thought 
only,  it  would  follow  that  all  thought  was  this  spirit, 
which  is  not  and  cannot  be  true.  All  spirits,  there- 
fore, are  only  different  modes  of  thought,  which  is 
an  attribute  of  God. 

It  is  easy  now,  these  positions  being  once  estab- 
lished, to  understand  the  idea  which  Spinoza  forms 
of  the  aggregate  of  bodies  and  of  spirits,  which 
makes  up  the  world  as  it  falls  under  our  observation 
The  basis  of  all  possible  bodies  is  extension,  an  attri- 
bute of  God ;  the  basis  of  all  spirits  is  thought,  also 
an  attribute  of  God.  A  body  or  spirit  is,  then, 
only  a  portion  and  definite  mode  of  the  twofold 
development  of  God,  as  a  being  of  intelligence  and 
a  being  of  extension.  A  body,  in  other  words,  is  a 
portion  of  the  divine  extension,  or  of  the  infinite 
series  of  movements  which  arise  out  of  it;  and  a 
spirit  is  a  portion  of  the  divine  thought,  or  of  the 
infinite  series  of  ideas  developed  from  it.  Extension 
and  thought  are  two  parallel  streams,  of  which  each 
separate  body  and  spirit  are  the  waves ;  and  as,  in 
streams,  each  wave  is  determined  by  that  which  impels 


160  JOUFFROY. 

it  forward,  and  this  by  some  other,  and  thus  backward 
to  the  source,  so  the  series  of  movements  or  ideas 
constituting  each  body  and  spirit  is  determined  by 
anterior  movements  or  ideas,  —  anterior  while  them- 
selves depending  on  others  which  preceded  them, 
—  and  thus  upward  to  God,  who  is  the  sole  cause  of 
all  that  happens,  as  he  is  the  sole  substance  of  all 
that  is. 

Hence  is  it,  says  Spinoza,  that,  when  we  attempt 
to  discover  the  cause  of  any  material  change,  or 
of  any  idea,  we  find  it  always  in  some  antecedent 
change  or  idea,  and  this  in  the  degree  in  which  we 
are  enabled  to  advance,  until  we  reach  the  point 
where  the  succession  of  effects  and  causes  is  lost 
to  view. 

You  can  readily  see  the  notion  of  man  to  which 
such  a  doctrine  leads.  Man  is  composed  of  body 
and  of  spirit.  What  is  this  body?  what  is  this 
soul  ?  The  reply  is  easy.  That  which  I  call  myself, 
or  my  soul,  is  not  a  substance,  as  we  imagine  —  for 
there  is  but  one  substance  ;  and  if  my  soul,  therefore, 
is  a  substance,  then  all  substance  is  me.  And  neither 
is  it  thought ;  or  else  all  thought  would  be  me.  It 
is  only,  then,  and  can  only  be,  the  succession  of  those 
ideas  which  we  are  accustomed  to  say  it  has,  but 
which  really  constitute  it.  My  soul,  at  any  one 
moment,  is  the  sum  of  the  ideas  which  are  then  in 
me.  If  the  wax  had  the  power  of  perceiving  itself, 
it  would  believe  itself  to  be  the  substance  sub- 
jected to  different  forms,  while  it  is  only  these  very 
forms. 

My  body,  in  the  same  way,  is  neither  a  substance 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  161 

nor  extension,  but  merely  a  succession  of  certain 
definite  modes  of  extension.  It  grows  from  smaller 
to  larger  dimensions,  from  youth  to  age,  and  undergoes 
perpetual  changes,  like  the  soul,  only  not  so  apparent- 
ly. It  is  but  the  stream  and  course  of  these  modifi- 
cations which  are  moving  on,  as  the  soul  is  but  a 
current  of  ideas. 

But  this  body  and  soul,  which  are  apparently  two, 
really  are  but  one ;  in  other  words,  what  we  call  the 
body  and  the  soul  are  but  two  aspects  of  one  and  the 
same  thing.  As,  in  God,  the  series  of  developments 
in  one  of  his  attributes  corresponds  perfectly  with  the 
series  of  developments  in  all  the  others,  so,  in  that  por- 
tion of  the  development  of  the  Deity  which  man  is,  the 
series  of  ideas  constituting  the  soul  corresponds  exactly 
to  the  series  of  motions  constituting  the  body.  Yet 
more ;  one  of  these  series  is  but  the  image  of  the 
other.  There  can  no  more  be  ideas  without  an 
object  in  us  than  in  God.  Now,  what  is  or  can  be 
the  proper  object  of  human  ideas,  if  not  the  human 
body?  If  there  is,  then,  in  us  a  series  of  ideas 
constituting  our  spirits,  it  is  because  there  is  also 
in  us  a  series  of  transformations,  changes,  and  affec- 
tions, constituting  the  body.  The  idea  which  is  in 
us  at  any  given  moment  is  nothing  more  than  the 
intellectual  form  of  the  material  movement  then 
taking  place.  Form  to  yourself  an  idea  of  God, 
as  developing  himself  through  the  two  attributes  of 
thought  and  of  extension,  and  arrest  by  thought  a 
definite  portion  of  this  infinite  development,  whicb 
may  endure  for  a  time,  and  you  have  a  man.  Now, 
as  all  the  attributes  of  God  are  but  different  niani- 

o2 


162  JOUFFROY. 

festations  of  the  same  thing,  arid  as  the  development 
of  one  is  only  the  development  of  the  other  in  another 
form,  it  follows  that  it  must  be  the  same  in  that 
portion  of  the  divine  development  which  constitutes 
us.  We  are,  then,  one  simple  thing  under  a  twofold 
aspect  —  the  intellectual  and  material;  and  that  which 
is  an  idea  under  one  aspect  is  always  a  movement 
under  the  other,  and  the  reverse. 

We  have  seen  that,  in  God,  the  attribute  of  thought 
represents  all  the  real  or  possible  modes  of  the  other 
attributes  of  God,  and  yet  more  the  modes  peculiar 
to  thought  itself;  for  it  is  the  very  nature  of  thought 
to  represent  its  own  modes,  as  well  as  all  other  mode*?. 
This  peculiar  nature  of  thought  is  preserved  in  us. 
As,  in  God,  thought  comprehends  itself,  so,  in  us, 
our  thought  is  self-conscious.  At  the  same  time, 
then,  that  the  series  of  ideas  constituting  our  minds 
represents  the  series  of  our  corporeal  emotions,  do 
these  ideas  also  represent  themselves ;  hence  our 
minds  have  knowledge  of  themselves,  in  addition  to 
a  knowledge  of  the  peculiar  object  to  which  they 
are  directed  —  that  is,  the  body.  This  is  the  phe- 
nomenon of  self-consciousness,  by  which  we  become 
acquainted  with  ourselves,  while,  at  the  same  time, 
we  gain  knowledge  of  what  is  not  ourselves ;  and 
this  phenomenon  is  reproduced  necessarily  among  all 
beings  who  are  modes  of  the  divine  thought. 

What,  then,  gentlemen,  are  we,  according  to  Spi- 
noza? We  are  a  mode  of  the  divine  thought,  corre- 
sponding to  a  mode  of  the  divine  extension,  which 
determines  the  thought,  and  is  its  proper  object. 
The  mode  of  extension  is  our  bodies ;  the  mode  of 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  163 

thought  is  our  minds ;  and  these  two  perfectly  corre- 
sponding modes  are  one  and  the  same  phenomenon, 
which  we  call  man. 

The  peculiar  characteristic  distinguishing  man  from 
bodies,  properly  so  called,  is,  that  these  latter  are 
modes  of  divine  extension  only.  The  modes  of  ex- 
tension do  not  necessarily  include  the  corresponding 
modes  of  divine  thought.  This  we  see  by  the  beings 
around  us,  which  are  simply  extended.  Man,  who 
unites  in  himself  these  two  modes,  has  twice  as  much 
real  being  as  bodies  simply  extended,  and  including 
but  one  mode. 

Having  thus  explained  Spinoza's  idea  of  man, 
I  might  leave  my  consideration  of  his  metaphysical 
system  here,  and  enter  into  no  further  detail  of  his 
opinions  upon  the  body  and  soul.  But  there  are 
a  few  more  points,  which  I  feel  I  ought  not  to  leave 
untouched. 

Our  bodies,  according  to  Spinoza,  are  not  simple, 
but  are  composed  of  a  number  of  other  bodies,  which 
are  all  different  modes  of  extension.  When  several 
bodies  are  united  together,  so  as  to  experience  the 
same  impressions  and  emotions,  they  form  an  indi- 
vidual ;  and,  so  long  as  the  form  of  the  individual 
exists,  the  individual  exists,  however  much  the  parts 
of  which  he  is  composed  are  changed,  increased,  or 
lessened.  The  human  body  depends  upon  the  form 
it  assumes  rather  than  upon  the  elements  which 
compose  it.  And  it  is  through  this  form,  which 
is  but  a  result  of  the  union  of  several  bodies,  or 
complex  modes  of  extension,  that  it  is  distinguished 
from  other  compound  bodies. 


164  JOUFFROY. 

All  changes  occurring  in  our  bodies  may  be 
resolved,  according  to  Spinoza,  into  movements;  and 
these  movements  are  determined  by  other  bodies 
impressing  it;  and  these  again  are  put  in  motion  by 
yet  others;  and  so  on.  Spinoza  calls  these  move- 
ments affections ;  and  says  that  the  nature  and 
number  of  these  affections  depend  both  upon  the 
nature  of  the  body  experiencing  them,  and  upon 
that  of  the  bodies  producing  them ;  so  that  the 
nature  of  each  affection  indicates  the  nature  both 
of  the  subject  affected,  and  of  the  causes  which 
affect  it. 

As  our  ideas  have  no  other  object  than  the  affections 
of  our  bodies,  it  follows  that  the  more  susceptible 
the  body  is  of  affections,  the  more  susceptible  the 
mind  is  of  ideas ;  and,  therefore,  that  our  minds 
acquire  more  ideas,  in  proportion  as  our  bodies  are 
affected  by  a  greater  number  of  external  bodies. 
In  other  words,  the  ideas  which  constitute  the  human 
mind  are  more  complex  and  rich,  in  proportion  as  the 
affections  of  the  body  are  more  and  more  various. 

Every  simple  idea  is,  according  to  Spinoza,  an 
idea  of  some  corporeal  affection  ;  but  this  idea  includes 
several  other  ideas,  besides  this  one  of  the  affection  : 
first,  an  idea  of  the  body  which  is  affected ;  secondly, 
an  idea  of  the  body  which  has  produced  the  affection  ; 
thirdly,  an  idea  of  the  mind,  since  every  idea  is  self- 
conscious,  and  forms  one  element  of  the  mind,  which 
itself  is  only  the  succession  of  ideas. 

We  see  from  this  how  it  was  that  Spinoza  was 
led  to  say  that  we  have  no  immediate  knowledge 
except  through  bodily  affection,  and  that  it  was  from 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  165 

the  idea  of  our  bodily  affections  that  all  human 
knowledge  took  its  origin.  Thi&  idea  is,  you  see, 
full  of  instruction,  as  it  leads  directly  to  the  ideas 
of  our  own  minds,  of  our  bodies,  and  of  other 
bodies.  I  beg  you  to  notice  that  this  is  exactly  the 
opinion  of  Condillac ;  and  we  need  only  substitute 
the  word  sensation  for  affection,  which  represents 
the  same  thing,  in  the  following  passage  from  the 
Ethica,  and  we  should  think  we  were  reading  from 
the  Traite  de  Sensations.  "  We  know  our  own 
bodies  only  through  its  affections,  we  know  external 
bodies  only  through  the  affections  of  our  own,  and 
we  know  our  spirits  only  through  the  idea  of  these 
affections."  This  resemblance  to  Condillac's  system, 
'which  you  may  trace  in  the  opinion  of  Spinoza,  that 
the  soul  is  the  sum  of  the  ideas  which  are  brought 
together  at  any  one  moment,  will  continually  strike 
you  as  I  present  other  points  of  his  metaphysical 
system. 

If  the  whole  of  intellectual  effort  was  limited  to 
the  operation  now  described,  we  should,  according 
to  Spinoza,  have  only  confused  and  inadequate  ideas. 
The  knowledge  that  we  obtain  of  our  own  and  other 
bodies,  from  the  ideas  of  our  affections,  is  indirect, 
and,  as  such,  incomplete,  and  therefore  confused; 
and,  for  the  same  reason,  the  knowledge  that  they 
give  us  of  the  affections,  which  they  represent,  is 
equally  imperfect  and  obscure.  For  an  adequate 
idea  of  these  affections  would  suppose  an  adequate 
knowledge  of  the  subject  affected,  and  of  the  causes 
producing  the  affections.  And,  finally,  since  the 


166  JOUFFROY. 

idea  of  the  affections  of  our  body  is  inadequate 
and  obscure,  the  idea  of  these  ideas,  which  is  the  idea 
of  our  own  minds,  must  be  a]so  obscure  and  inade- 
quate. So  that  if  human  knowledge  remains  always 
in  the  state  in  which  simple  perception,  to  use  the 
words  of  Spinoza,  gives  it  to  us,  we  should  have  only 
such  confused  ideas,  as  all  the  ideas  of  our  affections, 
of  our  minds,  of  our  bodies,  and  of  other  bodies, 
must  be. 

Fortunately,  according  to  Spinoza,  our  ideas  are 
not  limited  to  those  which  we  receive  when  we  are 
made  to  perceive  (ad  percipiendum)  by  the  current  of 
external  movements.  We  obtain  ideas  having  a  very 
different  character,  when  we  are  determined  from 
within  to  conceive  (ad  intelligendum)  of  agreements 
and  differences,  by  a  simultaneous  contemplation  of 
several  ideas.  In  this  case  we  can  arrive  at  adequate 
and  clear  ideas. 

Spinoza  admits,  then,  that,  after  the  particular  and 
immediate  ideas  of  the  affections  of  our  body,  and 
all  others  implied  by  these,  have  been  introduced, 
they  are  submitted  to  a  process  by  which  we  are  ena- 
bled to  form  general  ideas,  which  are  adequate  and 
clear.  Thus  three  points  are  established  in  the  sys- 
tem of  Spinoza :  first,  that  all  our  knowledge  comes 
from  the  affections  of  our  bodies ;  second,  that  all 
simple  ideas,  and  all  such  ideas  of  our  mind,  of  our 
own  body,  or  of  other  bodies,  as  naturally  rise  out 
of  these  simple  ideas,  are  essentially  inadequate  and 
obscure;  third,  and  last,  that  the  only  ideas  which 
can  be  clear  and  adequate  are  general  ideas,  such 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM. 


as  we  deduce  from  the  former  kind  of  ideas,  by  an 
inward  effort,  subsequent  to  perception,  and  distinct 
from  it. 

The  nature  of  this  process  of  mind  is  the  most 
obscure  part  of  Spinoza's  doctrine  ;  and  I  think  I 
do  not  deceive  myself  in  asserting,  that  here  is  the 
source  of  the  whole  difficulty  which  is  felt  in  under- 
standing his  system.  All  other  portions  of  it  become 
intelligible,  if  we  give  them  attentive  and  patient 
study. 

It  has  been  a  question  whether  Spinoza  considers 
this  mental  process  as  a  necessary  and  spontaneous 
one,  or  whether  he  thinks  that  we  must  contribute 
our  own  efforts  to  aid  it,  thus  ascribing  to  man  some 
influence  and  power  in  the  formation  of  his  own 
ideas.  If  we  consider  only  the  principles  of  the 
system,  and  the  expressions  which  Spinoza  employs 
to  describe  this  process  of  the  mind,  obscure  as  they 
are,  we  shall  be  led  to  the  first  opinion.  Since  all 
our  ideas  are  determined  by  the  series  of  the  affec- 
tions of  our  body,  and  since  these  are  determined 
by  external  causes,  which  are  determined  by  God, 
it  is  evident  that  all  our  ideas  must  be  determined 
by  God.  But  there  is  a  still  greater  objection  to 
the  idea  that  they  are  determined  by  ourselves.  Our 
minds  are  only  the  sum  of  our  ideas  ;  before  we  can 
suppose  that  the  mind  has  any  influence  over  the 
formation  of  our  ideas,  we  must  suppose  it  distinct 
from  them;  for  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  that  a  mind, 
which  is  but  an  aggregate  of  ideas,  can  aid  in  the 
formation  of  those  very  ideas  of  which  it  is  itself 
the  effect,  result,  and  product.  If  true,  then,  to  the 


108  JOUFFROY. 

principles  of  his  system,  Spinoza  could  not,  without 
a  strange  contradiction,  attribute  to  the  mind  any 
participation  in  the  process  to  which  the  simple  ideas 
of  perception  are  subjected ;  and,  as  I  said  before, 
in  his  description  of  this  process,  there  is  no  expres- 
sion which  would  authorize  us  to  say  that  he  had 
fallen  into  this  contradiction.  But  when  he  comes 
to  the  moral  part  of  his  system,  which  I  shall  describe 
in  my  next  lecture,  we  are  induced  to  adopt  an  oppo- 
site opinion;  for  in  this  portion  of  his  work,  Spinoza 
evidently  ascribes  to  man  a  certain  kind  of  influence 
over  the  formation  of  his  ideas.  He  there  says  that 
liberty  is  this  power  exerted  by  us  over  our  ideas ; 
he  recommends  that  we  should  turn  away  our  minds 
from  certain  ideas,  and  fix  them  upon  others ;  and  he 
gives  an  essay  upon  the  proper  conduct  of  the  mind ; 
and  it  is  upon  this  idea  of  their  power  to  direct  and 
form  certain  ideas,  that  Spinoza's  whole  system  of 
ethics  is  founded.  Had  Spinoza  been  a  less  exact 
reasoner,  we  should  not  hesitate  to  say,  that  he  had 
here,  like  many  other  philosophers,  been  inconsistent, 
and  had  contradicted  his  own  principles;  but  we  must 
be  more  cautious  in  making  this  charge  upon  such 
a  writer  as  the  author  of  the  "  Ethics ; "  and  when 
we  reflect  upon  the  enormity  of  such  a  contradiction, 
we  can  hardly  escape  the  impression  that  this  vigorous 
mind  was  deceived  by  some  logical  illusion,  which 
it  would  be  very  desirable  to  discover.  If  there  was, 
to  his  mind,  such  an  illusion  any  where,  it  was, 
doubtless,  in  his  idea  of  the  intellectual  process  by 
which  general  ideas  are  produced.  And  it  is  for  this 
reason,  that  I  call  this  portion  of  his  system  the  most 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  169 

obscure ;  for  it  is  here  only  that  we  meet  with  real 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  comprehending  it.  I  con- 
fess, gentlemen,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  surmount 
these  difficulties ;  the  illusion  by  which  Spinoza  was 
deceived,  I  have  not  been  able  to  discover.  Th^e 
opinion  he  seems  to  have  formed,  and  which  I  will 
now  describe,  of  the  nature  of  the  intellectual  opera- 
tion by  which  the  mind  is  raised  from  particular  and 
immediate  to  ultimate  and  general  ideas,  is  perfectly 
consistent  with  the  principles  of  his  system,  and 
leaves  wholly  unexplained  the  contradiction  into 
which,  as  I  shall  show  in  the  next  lecture,  he  has 
fallen. 

Human  knowledge  would  be  reduced  to  the  immedi- 
ate notions  of  perception  only,  if,  after  these  ideas  were 
obtained,  there  was  no  mode  of  preserving  or  recalling 
them.  But  this  can  be  done,  and  in  this  way :  The 
action  of  external  causes  upon  the  body  has  the  effect 
of  modifying  the  state  of  those  parts  of  the  body  upon 
'which  they  act ;  and  the  impression  produced  by  them 
does  not  disappear  altogether  with  the  action  of  the 
causes ;  when  this  action  is  strong  or  frequent,  the 
impression  remains  after  the  action,  and  the  parts 
affected  finally  acquire  a  permanent  disposition  for 
receiving  these  impressions.  These  remaining  influ- 
ences on  the  affections  become  ideas  in  the  mind 
equally  with  the  affections  themselves. 

The  ideas  corresponding  to  these  surviving  impres* 
sions  of  the  affections  Spinoza  calls  images  or  remem- 
brances—  ideas,  properly  so  called,  which  represent 
the  affections  themselves ;  and  they  constitute  what 
he  denominates  the  imagination  or  memory. 
VOL.  i.  p 


170 


JOUFFROY. 


One  other  fact  in  our  nature  completes  the  expla- 
nation of  the  operation  of  memory,  and  that  is  the 
analogy  existing  among  the  corporeal  dispositions 
which  constitute  certain  affections.  By  reason  of  this 
analogy,  whenever  we  experience  one  kind  of  affec- 
tion, analogous  to  others  which  we  have  often  felt, 
and  which  have  thus  left  in  the  body  a  disposition 
to  reproduce  them,  the  former  affection  causes  the 
body  to  replace  itself  in  a  condition  to  receive  the 
latter,  so  that  these  last  are  renewed  mechanically; 
and,  since  they  in  turn  may  awaken  other  analogous 
ones,  it  follows  that  one  single  affection  may  produce 
the  impression  of  a  thousand  different  ones ;  and 
hence  the  mind  experiences,  subsequent  to  the  recep- 
tion of  an  idea,  long  trains  of  images  and  remem- 
brances ;  and  this  constitutes  the  phenomena  of  the 
association  of  ideas,  of  imagination,  and  of  memory. 

Thus  our  minds,  at  any  one  moment,  are  made  up, 
not  only  of  the  ideas  of  the  affections  which  have  been 
impressed,  and  of  other  ideas  which  these  imply,  but 
also  of  a  greater  or  less  number  of  remembrances, 
that  is  to  say,  of  ideas  of  past  affections. 

But  these  ideas  are,  as  we  have  said,  self-conscious. 
And  consciousness,  while  comprehending  them,  com- 
prehends also  the  agreements  and  differences  between 
them,  and,  consequently,  between  whatever  objects 
they  represent.  Hence  a  new  class  of  ideas  —  ideas 
of  relation,  or  general  ideas — ideas  which  are  ultimate 
and  wholly  distinct  from  the  immediate  ideas  acquired 
from  perception. 

Such,  gentlemen,  is  that  intellectual  effort  which 
I  before  alluded  to  :  perception  gives  us  the  materials, 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  171 

and  the  operation  consists  wholly  in  bringing  together 
these  materials,  by  the  influence  of  memory  and 
making  a  comparison. 

But  this  comparison  is  wholly  mechanical,  and 
Spinoza  has  taken  care  to  state  that  it  is  so.  There 
are  not  ideas  recalled  and  compared  on  the  one  side, 
and  a  mind  recalling  and  comparing  them  on  the 
other.  The  impressions  left  on  the  affections  are 
necessarily  awakened  in  the  body,  and  these  are 
necessarily  represented  by  ideas  in  the  mind,  and 
these  ideas  are  necessarily  compared  by  their  mere 
juxtaposition,  whence  result  ideas,  necessarily  formed, 
of  their  agreements  and  differences;  and  this  is  all. 
There  is  nothing  here  in  any  way  resembling  the 
intervention  of  the  mind.  The  mind  continues  to 
be  the  sum  of  our  ideas,  and  this  sum  is  only  in- 
creased by  a  new  class  of  ideas.  This  is  all. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  these  general  ideas,  once 
formed,  are  subject  to  the  same  law  with  immediate 
ideas;  that  is,  they  can  be  recalled  like  them,  and 
can  produce,  as  they  do,  when  brought  together, 
ideas  yet  more  general,  which,  in  turn,  may  give 
rise  to  others  yet  more  general,  and  so  on ;  let  it  be 
remarked,  however,  that  all  these  ideas,  however  gen- 
eral, have  one  characteristic,  which  is,  that  they  are 
not  immediate,  that  is,  not  simple  perceptions,  but 
derived,  or  conceptions,  as  Spinoza  calls  them. 

We  have  seen  that  Spinoza  considers  all  immediate 
ideas  as  essentially  inadequate  and  confused.  It  is 
not  necessarily  so,  according  to  him,  with  derived 
ideas,  whose  formation  we  have  now  explained ; 
these  may  be  clear  and  adequate,  and  for  this 
jeason, 


172  JOUIFROY. 

What  is  the  truth  of  an  idea?  asks  Spinoza.  It  is 
the  conformity  of  the  idea  to  whatever  it  represents  ; 
but  since  the  condition  of  the  origin  of  an  idea  is 
the  existence  of  the  object  awakening  it,  there  can 
be  no  idea  without  something  of  which  it  is  the 
representation  ;  every  idea  has,  therefore,  some  truth  ; 
the  only  difference  between  ideas  is  this,  that  some 
represent  completely  their  object,  while  others  do 
not;  the  former  are  adequate  ideas,  the  latter  are 
inadequate ;  ideas  then  are  false  only  from  their 
deficiency  in  not  representing  the  whole  of  their 
object ;  so  far  as  they  do  represent  it,  they  are 
true ;  their  truth  is  positive,  their  falseness  is  neg- 
ative. 

There  is  an  identity,  therefore,  between  an  adequate 
idea  and  a  complete  or  true  idea,  on  the  one  side, 
and  between  an  inadequate  and  false  idea,  on  the  other. 
But  how  can  we  tell  whether  an  idea  is  adequate  or 
inadequate  ?  By  what  sign  or  criterion  shall  we 
judge  ?  By  its  clearness,  says  Spinoza.  Whence, 
then,  comes  the  confusion  of  some  ideas  ?  Solely 
from  their  incompleteness,  that  is  to  say,  their  inade- 
quate representation  of  their  objects ;  for  if  they 
represented  the  whole  of  their  object,  they  could 
not  be  obscure.  Every  clear  idea  is,  therefore,  an 
adequate  one,  and  every  confused  idea  an  inadequate 
one.  It  is  by  their  clearness  or  their  confusion, 
then,  that  we  are  to  determine  whether  our  ideas 
are  true  or  false,  adequate  or  inadequate. 

If  our  immediate  ideas  cannot  be  adequate,  it  must 
be  as  Spinoza  has  proved,  because  they  correspond 
to  particular  objects,  all  the  circumstances  and  details 
of  which  we  cannot  fully  know  ;  and  it  is  in  conse- 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  173 

quence  of  their  inadequacy  that  they  are  all  essentially 
obscure  and  imperfectly  true.  On  the  contrary,  our 
derived  ideas  may  be  adequate,  and,  consequently, 
clear,  for  the  reason  that  they  represent  not  particular 
objects,  and,  therefore,  very  complicated  ones,  but 
general  ones,  much  less  complex  than  particulars, 
and  becoming  less  and  less  so  as  they  become  more 
general. 

Let  us  take,  for  example,  the  particular  facts  which 
we  call  the  affections  of  the  body.  We  cannot  per- 
fectly know  any  one  of  these  affections,  precisely 
because  it  is  a  particular  affection.  But  suppose 
several  inadequate  ideas  of  many  affections  brought 
together  by  memory  ;  the  agreement  of  these  different 
ideas  will  then  appear,  and  create  a  general  idea  of 
whatever  is  in  common  among  these  affections,  that 
is  to  say,  of  that  particular  characteristic  which  con- 
stitutes them  affections.  This  common  and  constitu- 
ent characteristic  is  infinitely  more  simple  than  either 
of  the  particular  phenomena  in  which  it  is  manifested ; 
and  we  can,  therefore,  for  this  reason,  form  a  much 
Jess  inadequate  idea  of  it,  and,  consequently,  a  much 
less  confused  and  false  one. 

Bring  now  this  general  idea  of  an  affection  into 
comparison  with  other  general  ideas  of  the  same 
kind,  analogous  to  it,  and  there  will  evidently  arise 
an  idea,  the  object  of  which  will  be  still  simpler,  and 
which  will  have  still  greater  chance,  therefore,  of 
being  adequate,  clear,  and  .true.  Whence  it  may  be 
seen  that  our  ideas  are  more  adequate,  true  and  clear, 
in  proportion  as  the  object  is  more  general,  and  as 
they,  consequently,  become  more  general  themselves. 


174  JOUFFROY. 

Such,  gentlemen,  according  to  ray  understanding 
of  it,  is  the  logic  of  Spinoza.  It  is,  I  should 
say,  —  and  you  will  easily  see  that  it  is,  —  perfect- 
ly consistent  with  his  ontology.  For,  if  there  is 
but  one  substance  developing  itself  under  an  infinity 
of  attributes,  of  which  the  particular  objects  around 
us  are  only  infinitely  varied  modes,  that  which  is 
the  most  general,  that  is  to  say,  the  whole  itself, 
or  God,  is  also  the  most  simple  and  real,  and  that 
which  is  the  most  particular  and  complex,  that  is 
to  say,  bodies  and  minds,  must  also  be  most  complex 
and  phenomenal ;  so  that  what  is  most  simple  and 
real,  according  to  the  common  notion,  is  precisely 
what  is  least  real  and  most  complex,  according  to 
Spinoza;  and  real  being  and  unity  increase,  in  his 
view,  in  the  same  proportion  as  abstraction  and 
multiplicity  do  in  ours.  The  world,  to  him,  is  only 
the  multiplied  developments  of  a  single  being,  while, 
to  us,  this  being  is  the  collection  of  a  multiplicity 
of  individual  beings.  Real  being,  to  our  minds, 
is  in  the  elements  of  the  whole,  while  the  whole 
itself  is  an  abstraction.  To  Spinoza,  real  being 
consists  in  this  whole,  which  is  itself  being,  while 
all  else  is  only  phenomenal,  and  more  and  more 
phenomenal  as  it  is  more  and  more  individual. 

I  have  now  said,  gentlemen,  all  that  1  proposed 
to  say  upon  the  metaphysical  portion  of  Spinoza's 
system.  In  my  next  lecture,  I  will  unfold  and  exhibit 
its  moral  part.  * 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  175 


LECTURE    VII. 


THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  my  last  lecture,  I  finished  what  I  had 
proposed  to  say  of  the  metaphysical  and  logical 
system  of  Spinoza.  I  proceed  now  to  attempt  to 
give  you  some  general  idea  of  the  moral  part  of  his 
system.  The  long  developments  into  which  I  allowed 
myself  to  be  led,  at  our  last  meeting,  warn  me  to 
limit  myself  in  this  discussion,  unless  I  intend  giving 
an  undue  place  in  my  course  to  the  doctrine  of  this 
philosopher. 

You  will  remember  that,  in  the  view  of  Spinoza, 
the  human  soul  is  only  a  succession  of  ideas, 
and  that  these  are  only  the  representation  of  different 
changes  taking  place  in  the  human  body.  You  will 
remember  also,  that  we  are  not  thence  to  conclude 
that  man  is  composed  of  two  parts,  one  of  which 
we  call  the  body,  and  the  other  the  soul ;  for,  according 
to  Spinoza's  idea,  these  are  but  one.  Man  is  one 
being  under  a  twofold  aspect  —  the  aspect  of  mind, 
or  his  ideas  —  the  aspect  of  extension,  or  his  body ;  — 
so  that  all  which  happens  to  a  man  appears  neces- 
sarily under  the  two  forms  of  affections  and  ideas 


170  JOUFFROY. 

which  express,  in  two  different  and  yet  corresponding 
ways,  one  and  the  same  phenomenal  development, 
which  is  man.  But  you  know  also,  that,  in  the 
system  of  Spinoza,  the  human  body  is  only  a  definite 
mode  of  extension,  which  is  an  attribute  of  God, 
and  the  human  mind  a  correspondent  mode  of  thought, 
which  is  another  attribute  of  God.  The  extension, 
constituting  our  body,  therefore,  and  the  idea  consti- 
tuting our  souls,  are  only  portions  of  the  development 
of  divine  thought  and  extension.  You  will  understand, 
therefore,  these  two  definitions  of  Spinoza,  that  the 
human  mind  is  God,  considered  as  constituting  the 
soul ;  and  the  human  body  is  God,  considered  as  con- 
stituting the  body.  God  is  at  once,  then,  finite,  in 
so  far  as  he  constitutes  our  body  or  soul ;  and  infinite, 
in  so  far  as  he  does  not  constitute  it.  Under  the  first 
view,  his  power  and  knowledge  are  limited ;  u»der  the 
second,  they  are  not.  All  the  mysterious  phrases 
of  the  Ethica  become  clear,  when  we  once  know 
that,  according  to  Spinoza,  the  ideas  which  consti- 
tute our  minds,  and  the  movements  which  constitute 
our  bodies,  (for  body,  be  it  remembered,  consists  in 
its  form,  and  not  in  its  material,)  are  only  fragments 
of  a  twofold  development  of  God  —  the  development 
of  his  thought  and  of  his  extension.  In  this  point 
of  view,  it  is  speaking  truly,  to  say,  that  God  consti- 
tutes our  bodies  and  our  minds,  and  that  his  power 
and  his  knowledge  are  finite,  in  so  far  as  he  does 
constitute  them.  We  have  not  all  ideas,  but  only 
some  ideas ;  and,  because  we  have  only  these  few, 
most  of  our  ideas  are  inadequate  and  confused. 
God,  therefore,  in  so  far  as  he  constitutes  us,  IB 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  177 

limited  in  his  knowledge,  and  has,  consequently, 
inadequate  and  confused  ideas ;  but  in  himself  it  is 
not  thus ;  for  in  so  far  as  he  does  not  constitute  us, 
he  has  all  the  ideas  which  we  have,  and  all  other 
ideas  which  can  serve  to  render  these  clear  and 
adequate.  Again,  the  power  of  our  bodies  is  lim- 
ited by  the  resistance  of  other  bodies.  God,  in  so 
far  as  he  constitutes  our  bodies,  is  limited  in  his 
power ;  but  he  is  not  thus  limited  in  himself,  for 
all  the  causes  which  limit  our  power  are  modes 
of  the  divine  power,  even  as  our  power  is  itself.  So 
far,  then,  as  our  body  is  finite,  God  is  limited  by 
himself;  consequently,  he  is  not  limited  in  his  own 
being,  but  only  in  so  far  as  he  constitutes  our  body. 
It  follows  from  this,  that  ideas  which  are  inadequate 
in  us,  are  not  inadequate  in  God,  except  in  so  far 
as  he  is  considered  as  constituting  our  minds ;  and 
that  our  finite  power  is  not  finite  in  God,  except  in 
so  far  as  he  constitutes  our  body.  These  distinctions 
may  seem  frivolous  to  you,  but  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  they  should  be  made,  if  we  would  understand 
Spinoza's  system. 

As  our  minds  are  made  up  of  ideas,  it  is  plain  that 
the  more  ideas  we  have,  and  the  clearer  and  more 
adequate  they  are,  the  more  real  and  living  will  be 
our  minds.  This  proposition  is  proved  by  arithmet- 
ical calculation  in  the  system  of  Spinoza.  The  soul 
oeirig  at  every  moment  the  sum  of  its  then  present 
ideas,  of  course  a  soul  made  up  of  twenty  ideas  will 
have  more  life,  more  perfection,  more  real  being,  than 
another  composed  of  six.  If  the  twenty  ideas  are 
clear,  adequate,  and  true,  the  mind  will  be  more  per 


178  JOUFFROY. 

feet,  real,  and  living,  than  if  they  were  inadequate  and 
confused.  As  the  essence  of  the  soul  is  ideas,  it  is 
these  ideas  which  constitute  its  real  being ;  and  it 
will  be  more  and  more  perfect,  in  proportion  as  it 
has  more  ideas,  and  as  these  are  more  and  more  clear. 
Applying  this  same  principle  to  the  body,  that  is  to 
say,  to  the  mode  of  extension,  which  is  constantly 
impressed,  restrained,  and  limited  by  other  bodies 
acting  upon  it,  we  shall  find  that  the  body,  too,  has 
more  and  more  real  being  and  perfection,  in  propor- 
tion as  it  is  less  and  less  limited  by  external  bodies, 
that  is  to  say,  in  proportion  as  it  develops  itself 
with  the  greatest  fulness  and  freedom  through  its 
own  natural  energy. 

In  the  moral  part  of  his  system,  Spinoza  wholly 
leaves  out  of  view  the  body,  and  makes  the  soul, 
that  is  to  say,  man,  considered  under  the  aspect  of 
thought,  the  chief  object  of  his  attention.  The  three 
last  books  of  his  work  are  occupied  altogether  with 
his  opinions  upon  the  real  life,  perfection,  and  well- 
being  of  this  portion  of  human  nature. 

The  laws  of  its  growth  or  decline,  the  means  by 
which  the  real  life,  perfection,  and  well-being  of  the 
soul  are  increased  or  diminished,  engages  his  whole 
attention ;  and  it  is  here  that  we  must  follow  his 
course  of  reasoning  most  closely,  if  we  would  gain 
an  insight  into  the  fundamental  ideas  of  his  ethics, 
politics,  arid  religion. 

Every  being  has,  necessarily,  a  tendency  and  de- 
sire ;  and  this  necessary  tendency  and  desire  is  to 
continue  in  the  condition  for  which  its  nature  fits  it. 
The  essence  of  God  is  existence,  and  his  necessary 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  179 

desire,  therefore,  is  to  remain  in  existence.  And, 
since  God  includes  all  existence,  and  his  existence, 
therefore,  is  not  and  cannot  be  limited  by  any  exist- 
ence beyond  and  out  of  himself,  it  follows,  that  God 
is  absolutely  perfect,  and,  consequently,  is  completely 
happy.  But  it  is  not  thus  with  the  human  soul. 

As  an  emanation  from  God,  the  human  soul  par- 
ticipates in  the  fundamental  desire  of  God,  and  also 
aspires  to  a  continuance  of  existence,  as  a  created 
being.  And,  as  the  constituent  element  of  the  soul 
is  knowledge,  and  this  knowledge  is  limited,  it  fol- 
lows that  this  fundamental  desire  of  continuance  in 
its  own  state  of  existence,  which  every  being  feels, 
must  in  the  soul  become  a  desire  to  remain  intelligent, 
and,  since  its  knowledge  is  limited,  to  extend  and 
enlarge  it.  Such  is  and  must  be,  necessarily,  the 
fundamental  and  peculiar  tendency  of  the  human 
mind.  And  it  is  for  this  reason  that  Spinoza  con- 
fines exclusively  to  this  tendency  the  name  of  desire  ; 
it  is  the  only  desire  which  he  acknowledges  and 
recognizes. 

But  the  ideas  constituting  the  human  soul  are  lim- 
ited by  external  causes,  which  determine  their  num- 
ber, and  render  them  inadequate  and  confused;  in 
other  words,  the  fundamental  desire  of  our  nature  meets 
abroad  with  influences,  both  favorable  and  unfavorable, 
whose  whole  operation,  however,  is  to  limit  and  fix 
bounds  to  our  knowledge.  These  influences,  coming 
into  contact  with  our  fundamental  desire,  give  us  joy 
or  pain,  and  awaken  love  and  hope,  hate  and  aver- 
sion. Hence  the  secondary  emotions  of  the  primitive 


189  JOUFFROY. 

and  fundamental  desire  existing  from  the  first  within 
us,  which  Spinoza  denominates  the  passions.  The 
reason  for  the  use  of  these  two  different  names  is 
this  profound  observation,  that  the  secondary  emo- 
tions proceed  from  the  action  of  external  causes,  and, 
consequently,  that  we  are  passive  in  experiencing 
these  emotions,  while,  on  the  contrary,  the  tendency 
to  preserve,  unchanged,  our  original  nature,  is  innate, 
arises  from  the  very  depths  of  our  being,  and  develops 
itself  even  when  no  external  cause  affects  us.  Here 
is  a  difference  well  expressed  by  the  terms  desire  and 
passion,  as  applied  by  Spinoza  to  these  two  kinds 
of  emotions. 

Spinoza,  however,  while  distinguishing  passion 
from  desire,  points  out  the  tie  which  unites  these 
two  orders  of  facts;  it  is  indeed  plain  that  if  the 
desire  of  continuance  in  being  did  not  exist,  ex- 
ternal causes  could  not  excite  the  emotions  of  joy 
or  sorrow,  love  or  hate,  hope  or  fear,  now  constituting 
our  passions.  All  the  passions  which  are  awakened 
within  us  presuppose,  therefore,  the  fundamental  de- 
sire already  existing  and  active.  Moreover,  it.  is 
plain  that  these  passions  are  only  different  expressions 
of  this  desire;  all  the  passions  are,  in  truth,  composed 
of  the  same  elements,  that  is  to  say,  of  a  sorrow  or 
dislike,  of  a  joy  or  love,  of  a  hope  or  fear ;  they  are 
distinguished  from  each  other  only  by  the  causes 
which  excite  them.  Now,  all  these  emotions  of  aver- 
sion or  love,  of  fear  or  hope,  of  joy  or  sorrow,  denote 
equally  a  desire  to  remain  in  being,  and  in  intelli- 
gence. All  the  tendencies  of  our  soul  are  reduced 


SYSTEM    OF     PANTHEISM.  181 

therefore,  to  this  single  one,  and  have  all  of  them 
but  one  single  object,  which  is  the  preservation  and 
increase  of  our  being  or  our  knowledge. 

As  knowledge  is  the  constituent  element  of  our 
soul,  the  desire  of  knowledge  is  the  desire  of  enlarging 
our  actual  being,  and  of  lessening  our  imperfections. 
Nothing,  then,  can  be  more  proper,  more  conformable 
to  reason,  than  the  end  to  which  our  desire  and 
passions  tend.  This  end  is  the  greatest  degree  of 
real  existence,  the  highest  perfection  of  our  being. 
All  that  we  can  do,  therefore,  to  attain  this  end,  is 
lawful  and  right,  and  the  pursuit  of  it  is  virtue. 
There  is  entire  harmony,  then,  between  virtue  and 
happiness,  since  both  consist  in  the  greatest  possible 
satisfaction  of  our  fundamental  desire,  and  of  all  the 
passions  which  are  excited  by  it,  and  which  express 
it.  Thus  Spinoza  arrives  at  the  conclusion,  which 
he  lays  down  as  a  principle,  that  the  satisfaction  of 
passion  is  the  end  of  virtue,  and  that  we  are  virtuous 
in  proportion  as  we  extend  this  satisfaction,  that  is 
to  say,  as  we  are  happy. 

Thus  knowledge,  existence,  real  being,  perfection, 
virtue,  happiness,  are  all  but  one  and  the  same  thing, 
under  different  aspects.  As  the  soul  is  composed 
of  ideas,  and  as  the  legitimate  end  of  every  being 
is  self-preservation,  the  proper  end  of  the  soul  is  the 
most  complete  and  extensive  knowledge  possible.  To 
this  end,  approved  by  reason,  all  the  passions  of  the 
soul  aspire;  to  strive  to  attain  it  is  virtue;  to  succeed 
in  acquiring  it  is  happiness,  that  is  to  say,  the  per- 
fection or  real  life  of  the  soul.  Such  are  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  Spinoza's  ethical  system. 

VOL.  I  Q 


182 


JOUFFROY. 


It  remains  now  for  us  to  examine  what  means  we 
have  at  our  disposal,  according  to  Spinoza,  for  the  at- 
tainment of  this  end,  which  includes  at  once  our  real 
life,  our  perfection,  and  our  happiness ;  and  it  is  here 
that  the  difficulties,  alluded  to  in  my  former  lecture, 
appear  —  difficulties  which  show  the  contradictions 
with  which,  as  it  appears  to  me,  this  system  must  be 
charged. 

Spinoza  has,  in  the  first  place,  said,  that  all  the 
ideas  which  can  arise  in  our  minds  are  only  deter- 
minate portions  of  the  ideas  of  God,  and  that  they 
all,  whether  immediate  or  derived,  are  produced  by 
necessity ;  and  yet  he  affirms  that  we  can  influence 
their  development.  In  the  second  place,  he  lays 
down  the  position,  that  our  ideas  are  the  very  com- 
ponent element  of  our  minds,  and  yet  asserts  that 
the  mind  exercises  a  control  over  the  formation  of  the 
ideas  of  which  it  is  composed.  Here  is  'the  radical 
contradiction  lurking  throughout  his  whole  system. 
All  who  have  attempted  to  describe  his  doctrines 
have  perceived  it ;  no  one  has  succeeded  in  explaining 
it,  and  I  have  not  been  more  fortunate;  I  limit  myself, 
therefore,  to  a  simple  statement  of  the  contradiction, 
and  pass  to  the  mode  of  moral  progress  which  Spinoza 
marks  out  for  the  soul  to  pursue,  in  attaining  its 
final  end  and  destiny. 

If  the  perfection  of  the  soul  consists  in  the  extent 
and  truth  of  its  constituent  ideas,  the  object  of  moral 
effort  evidently  must  be  to  diminish,  as  much  as 
possible,  our  inadequate  and  obscure  ideas,  and  to 
multiply,  as  much  as  possible,  our  clear  and  adequate 
ideas ;  and  the  mode  of  accomplishing  this,  according 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  183 

to  Spinoza,  is  to  withdraw  our  minds  from  one  mode 
of  acquiring  knowledge,  and  to  direct  them  towards 
another.  Now,  what  is  the  most  desirable  kind 
of  knowledge  ?  And  why  is  it  most  desirable  ?  I  will 
endeavor  to  answer  these  questions,  by  recalling  to 
your  minds  some  of  the  principles  of  Spinoza's  logical 
system,  already  exhibited  in  the  former  lecture.  They 
are,  at  once,  so  important,  and  yet  so  obscure,  that 
perhaps  it  may  be  well  for  me  to  review  rapidly 
what  I  then  stated  upon  the  subject. 

The  primitive  ideas  of  our  minds,  you  will  re- 
member, are  nothing,  according  to  Spinoza,  but  the 
images  of  the  affections  of  our  bodies;  and  these 
affections  themselves  originate  in  the  action  of  ex- 
ternal causes  upon  us.  These  ideas  are  essentially 
inadequate,  and  yet  they  comprehend  in  themselves 
all  the  ideas  which  we  can  have  immediately.  They 
are  inadequate,  in  the  first  place,  because  it  is  neces- 
sary, before  we  can  have  an  adequate  idea  of  an 
affection  of  our  body,  that  we  should  understand 
the  nature  of  that  body,  and  of  the  causes  which 
affect  it.  But  we  gain  a  knowledge  of  external 
causes,  and  of  the  body  itself,  only  through  -these 
very  affections;  we  have,  therefore,  only  indirect  and 
essentially  incomplete  ideas  of  the  body,  and  of  out- 
ward objects ;  and  yet  more,  if  this  is  so,  the 
idea  we  have  of  the  affection  itself  is  confused  and 
inadequate  ;  our  ideas,  then,  of  our  bodily  affections, 
and  of  our  own  and  other  bodies,  are,  by  ne- 
cessity, confused  and  incomplete;  and,  finally,  our 
consciousness  of  these  ideas  must  be  so  too ;  — :  so 
that  all  the  ideas  which  we  receive  immediately  are 


184  JOUFFROY. 

inadequate.  It  is  from  this  very  fact  of  the  inade- 
quacy of  our  ideas,  that  our  passions  arise;  for,  if  all 
our  ideas  were  clear  and  complete,  our  desire  of 
knowledge  would  be  entirely  satisfied ;  and,  conse- 
quently, we  should  not  experience  the  joy  or  sorrow, 
the  love  or  hate,  the  hopes  or  fears,  which  constitute 
all  passion,  and  originate  in  the  imperfectness  of  our 
ideas.  And  whence  springs  all  evil  within  us  ?  From 
this  same  imperfection,  and  from  the  passions  caused 
by  it,  which  disturb  our  peace  and  prevent  our  happi- 
ness. Inadequate  ideas  are,  therefore,  at  once  the 
source  of  all  passion,  and  of  all  pain  ;  and  all  the 
simple  ideas  of  perception  are  of  this  nature. 

And  now,  what  shall  we  do  to  acquire  clear  and 
adequate  ideas  ?  If  we  had  no  other  mode  of  gaining 
knowledge,  and  of  obtaining  ideas,  than  the  perception 
of  our  corporeal  affections,  we  should  be  indeed 
perplexed,  and  all  virtue,  all  perfection,  would  be 
evidently  impossible.  But,  independently  of  these 
ideas,  received  from  the  affections  of  the  body,  we 
can,  as  I  have  already  said,  attain  to  a  higher  order 
of  ideas,  drawn  from  these  simple  ideas  by  a  subse- 
quent effort  of  the  mind.  The  impressions  of  corpo- 
real affections  do  not  disappear  when  the  external 
cause  which  produced  them  ceases  to  act.  The  parts 
of  the  body  which  are  affected  contract  a  disposition 
to  reproduce  the  emotion  which  characterizes  these 
affections ;  and  they  do  reproduce  them,  whenever 
any  analogous  affection  is  excited  ;  —  so  that  an 
affection  of  the  body  is  accompanied  by  the  repro- 
duction of  a  number  of  kindred  affections,  associated 
by  analogy ;  and  an  idea  in  the  mind  is  accompanied 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  185 

by  a  series  of  images  and  remembrances  correspond- 
ing to  the  affections  thus  awakened ;  or,  in  other 
words,  by  the  simultaneous  presence  in  our  minds 
of  a  crowd  of  different  ideas ;  some,  ideas,  properly 
so  called,  and  others,  images  and  recollections. 

From  this  concurrence  of  our  ideas  arises  the  fact 
of  a  comparison  passed  between  them;  and,  from 
this  comparison  springs  a  wholly  new  class  of  ideas, 
not  representing,  as  before,  a  particular  affection  or 
external  object,  not  our  body  or  spirit  at  any  given 
moment,  but,  instead,  the  common  element  of  many 
affections  and  external  objects,  of  many  states  of  our 
bodies  and  minds. 

Observe  now,  that  the  element  which  our  affec- 
tions have  in  common,  is  the  essence  itself  of  affec- 
tion ;  that  the  common  element  of  different  external 
bodies,  and  of  different  states  of  our  own  body,  is  the 
very  essence  of  body;  and  that  the  common  element 
of  different  states  of  mind,  is  the  essence  of  our  mind, 
and  of  all  mind. 

It  is  not  true  in  relation  to  these  essential  elements 
of  all  affections,  and  bodies,  and  spirits,  as  it  is  of 
particular  affections  or  bodies,  of  particular  states 
of  our  own  bodies  or  spirits,  that  we  can  have  only 
inadequate  and  obscure  ideas,  on  account  of  their 
complexity.  The  characteristics  of  the  essence  of  any 
thing  are  few,  and  are  constantly  reappearing  in 
every  particular  idea  of  it  which  may  occur  to  us, 
however  inadequate  this  may  be,  arid  are  easily  dis- 
tinguished by  a  comparison  of  many  particular  ideas; 
so  that  it  is  easy  to  have  an  adequate  idea  of  these 
characteristics,  and,  consequently*  of  the  essence 

Q2 


186  JOUFFROY. 

of  which  they  are  the  component  parts.  This  class 
of  ideas,  representing  the  essences  of  things,  and 
arising  from  a  comparison  of  particular  and  immediate 
ideas,  or,  in  other  words,  these  general  ideas,  may  easily, 
therefore,  become  adequate  and  clear.  And  it  is  for 
this  reason  that,  while  we  can  never  form  an  adequate 
idea  of  any  particular  affection,  or  external  body,  or 
given  state  of  our  minds  and  bodies,  we  yet  can  have 
perfectly  adequate  ideas  of  affection  in  general,  of  the 
constituent  element  of  body,  which  is  extension,  or 
of  that  of  mind,  which  is  thought.  If  this,  now,  is 
true  of  general  ideas,  arising  from  the  comparison 
of  particular,  ideas,  it  is  much  truer  of  the  more 
general  ideas  which  arise  from  the  comparison  of  less 
general  ones  ;  so  that  the  property  of  adequateness, 
clearness,  and  truth,  constantly  increases  in  proportion 
to  the  general  nature  of  our  ideas,  and  becomes 
absolute  and  complete  when  the  ideas  are  universal. 

By  applying  this  law  to  the  progress  of  mind, 
we  shall  obtain  the  following  method  of  logic  and 
of  ethics. 

If  we  allow  ourselves  to  be  wholly  occupied  by  the 
particular  ideas,  which  the  moving  current  of  things 
suggests,  our  knowledge  will  be  always  inadequate  and 
confused,  and  we  shall  remain  at  the  lowest  stage  of 
real  being  and  of  possible  perfection  :  yet  more,  since 
these  ideas,  in  proportion  to  their  inadequacy  and 
obscurity,  excite  in  higher  and  higher  degrees  all 
the  passions  which  agitate  us,  we  shall  be  utterly 
wretched. 

To  elevate  ourselves  above  this  state  of  extreme 
imperfection  and  misery,  we  must  turn  our  thoughts 


SYSTEM    OF     PANTHEISM.  187 

to  those  general  ideas,  which  spring  from  a  comparison 
of  particular  ideas,  and,  representing  the  essences  of 
things,  may,  with  more  probability,  be  adequate  and 
clear ;  and  this  course  we  must  pursue  to  the  utmost 
possible  extent.  Our  first  step  will  be  to  attain  to 
general  ideas  of  the  attributes  of  God,  and  next  to  the 
universal  idea  of  God  himself,  which  is  the  ultimate 
limit  of  human  knowledge;  for  this  idea  embraces 
at  once  all  that  is  most  simple  and  most  complete  — 
the  eternal,  necessary,  and  immutable  substance  of  all 
existence. 

This  view  naturally  leads  Spinoza  to  distinguish 
three  degrees  of  human  knowledge.  The  first  degree 
of  knowledge  comprehends  the  particular  and  imme- 
diate ideas,  which  arise  from  the  perception  of  bodily 
affections.  The  multitude  of  men  seldom  rise  above 
this,  and  hence  the  confused  notions,  the  passions 
and  the  misery  of  the  mass  of  mankind.  The  second 
degree  of  knowledge  comprehends  the  general  ideas 
which  result  from  experience,  and  which,  in  propor- 
tion as  they  are  more  or  less  clearly  conceived,  rep- 
resent, more  or  less  adequately,  the  infinite,  eternal, 
and  immutable  attributes  of  God.  In  its  third  degree, 
knowledge  concentrates  itself  into  one  idea,  which 
presupposes  all  general  ideas  —  the  absolute  arid  uni 
versal  idea  of  God.  Sages  alone,  who  devote  their 
lives  to  meditation,  can  attain  to  this  height  of 
knowledge  and  of  peace.  Here,  and  here  only,  is 
peace.  For  since  God  is  the  first  principle  and  cause 
of  all  things,  the  idea  of  God  is  not  only  more  simple 
than  all  other  ideas,  but  a  light  to  make  them  clear 
and  perfect,  so  that  they  can  become  fully  adequate 


188  JOUFFROY. 

only  through  this  idea.  He  who  has  not  compre* 
hended  God,  in  other  words,  can  comprehend  nothing 
perfectly;  each  particular  is  included  in  the  general, 
and  the  general  in  the  universal ;  and,  therefore,  the 
conception  of  God  is  implied  in  all  other  conceptions, 
and  every  conception  remains  incomplete  and  obscure, 
until  the  idea  of  God  is  conceived.  We  can  attain 
perfectly  adequate  and  clear  knowledge  only  in  the 
idea  of  God;  here  the  mind  finds  the  highest  reality, 
the  fullest  existence,  sovereign  perfection,  entire  re- 
pose, and  complete  felicity  ;  with  this  it  can  destroy 
passion,  and  wholly  satisfy  our  fundamental  desire  of 
knowledge ;  so  that  absolute  perfection  and  happi- 
ness would  be  possible  for  man  in  this  life,  if  he 
could  here  attain  to  a  complete  idea  of  God.  But 
to  this  his  power  is  not  equal.  We  may  form  an 
adequate  idea  of  the  essence  of  God  ;  but  the  infinity 
of  the  attributes  through  which  this  essence  is 
developed,  and  the  infinity  of  the  modes  of  these 
attributes,  escape  us;  of  these  attributes,  two  only 
are  accessible  to  us,  and  we  know  only  a  small  part 
of  the  modes  even  of  these  two  attributes.  Thus, 
while  the  complete  idea  of  God  would  be  universal 
science,  since  God  contains  all  that  is  or  can  be, 
yet  for  God  alone  is  this  science  possible,  because  he 
alone  can  know  himself  completely. 

Such,  gentlemen,  is  the  path,  marked  out  by 
Spinoza,  for  man  to  reach  his  highest  possible  per- 
fection and  happiness.  You  will  see  that  he  has 
thus,  at  the  same  time,  shown  what  course  the  soul 
should  pursue  to  arrive  at  the  most  complete  knowl 
edge,  and  what  it  should  itself  become;  for,  since, 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  189 

in  Spinoza's  doctrine,  the  soul  is  made  up  of  ideas, 
science  and  the  perfection  of  the  soul  are  one  and 
the  same.  Logic  and  ethics  are  identified,  therefore, 
in  this  system,  arid  the  method  which  leads  to  good, 
is  precisely  that  which  leads  to  truth. 

It  remains  for  me  to  show  you  how  this  same 
path  leads  to  immortality.  Here,  perhaps,  is  the 
most  singular  and  original  point  of  view  of  this  vast 
system ;  and  it  is  the  last  that  I  shall  mention. 

I  have  already  told  you,  that  the  condition  or  the 
origin  of  every  idea  is  the  existence  of  an  ob- 
ject :  as  an  idea  is  only  a  representation,  there  can 
be  no  idea  without  an  object  represented.  It  follows, 
as  a  strict  consequence  from  this  principle,  that,  so 
long  as  our  ideas  represent  only  the  affections  of  the 
body,  and  imply  these  affections,  or,  in  other  words, 
our  own  body  and  external  bodies,  our  ideas  exist 
only  through  the  existence  of  these  affections,  which 
themselves  presuppose  the  body.  If,  then,  our  body 
ever  ceases  to  be,  since  its  affections  will  also  be 
destroyed  at  the  same  time,  all  our  ideas  will  be 
destroyed  ;  and,  as  the  soul  is  only  the  collection 
of  our  ideas,  the  soul  will  be,  together  with  them, 
utterly  annihilated.  It  follows  from  this,  that  in  men 
who  have  only  ideas  of  particulars,  or  those  of  per- 
ception, the  death  of  the  soul  will  result  from  that 
of  the  body,  and  be  its  necessary  consequence;  for 
them  immortality  is  impossible. 

But  suppose  that,  by  intellectual  effort,  we  disen- 
gage from  our  ideas  of  particulars  the  general  ideas 
which  they  imply,  and  thus  obtain  clear  views  of  that, 
which  is  at  the  foundation  of  all  objects  and  of  all 


190  JOUFFROY. 

particular  phenomena;  that  is  to  say,  clear  views  of 
the  essence  of  things,  or  of  those  attributes  of  God 
which  we  are  capable  of  conceiving,  then,  although 
our  body  is  destroyed,  objects  will  yet  remain  for 
human  thought,  and  ideas  will  still  be  possible.  The 
ideas  composing  our  soul  will  not  all  vanish  with  the 
body,  according  to  this  hypothesis ;  that  part  only 
of  the  soul  will  disappear  which  represents  partic- 
ulars ;  the  rest  will  remain  and  survive. 

But  let  us  go  yet  further,  and  suppose  that,  from 
the  idea  of  God's  attributes,  we  have  ascended  to  the 
idea  of  God  himself;  here  is  an  eternal,  infinite, 
immutable  object  for  human  thought,  remaining  for- 
ever as  the  material  of  ideas,  and  of  adequate  and 
numerous  ideas ;  for  from  the  depth  of  the  idea  of 
God  spring  up  a  host  of  other  ideas  contained  in 
it,  which  are  multiplied  in  proportion  as  they  are 
contemplated  for  a  greater  length  of  time.  Hence 
a  multitude  of  ideas  remain  possible,  even  after  the 
death  of  the  body,  and  an  amount  of  existence  for 
the  soul,  which  cannot  be  destroyed  or  undergo  a 
change. 

But  upon  what  does  it  depend  whether  this  shall 
be  our  condition  in  the  hour  of  death?  It  depends 
upon  ourselves,  gentlemen,  because  we  can,  if  we 
choose,  turn  our  thoughts  away  from  particulars, 
and  raise  them  to  generals,  and  fix  them  there.  Our 
immortality  depends,  then,  upon  ourselves,  and  is  the 
fruit  of  virtue,  as  perfection  and  happiness  are.  It 
is  for  us  to  create  for  ourselves,  during  life,  an  object 
of  thought,  separate  from  our  bodies,  and  from  all 
bodies  which  surround  us,  —  an  object  which  may 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  191 

remain  when  our  bodies  shall  disappear,  and  with 
them  ail  possibility  of  affections,  and  with  these  affec- 
tions all  possibility  of  perceiving  external  bodies  ;  and 
we  shall  attain  this  end,  and  reach  this  object,  if  we 
turn  away  our  thoughts  from  transient  things,  and 
raise  them  to  those  which,  having  eternal  existence, 
will  abide  forever ;  and,  by  this  everlasting  endurance, 
will  preserve  also  in  existence  a  portion  of  our  souls, 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  ideas  of  which  they  are  com- 
posed. 

Such  is  the  singular  opinion  of  Spinoza,  relative 
to  the  immortality  of  the  soul ;  and  you  see  how 
far  it  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  his  doctrine, 
when  the  possibility  of  our  giving  direction  to  the 
mind  is  once  admitted.  It  follows  from  this,  that 
human  souls  have  real  being  in  very  unequal  degrees, 
and  that  this  varies  with  the  nature  as  well  as 
number  of  their  component  ideas.  Souls  made  up 
entirely  of  immediate  ideas  have  only  a  feeble  reality, 
and  will  perish  with  the  body.  The  sum  of  the 
constituent  ideas  of  other  souls  may,  at  each  mo- 
ment, be  divided  into  two  parts ;  the  one,  perisha- 
ble, composed  of  ideas,  representing  individual  and 
particular  objects,  and  wholly  inadequate  and  con- 
fused; the  other,  immortal,  composed  of  adequate 
and  clear  ideas,  representing  unchangeable  objects, 
that  is  to  say,  the  attributes  of  God  and  God  himself. 
At  any  given  moment,  our  real  being,  our  perfection, 
our  happiness,  are  in  direct  proportion  to  the  number 
of  these  last  ideas,  and  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  num- 
ber of  the  former.  Our  perfection,  happiness,  and 


192  JOUFFROY. 

real  life,  therefore,  increase  with  the  sum  of  our  ade- 
quate ideas  ;  and,  since  this  increase  depends  upon 
our  virtue,  our  measure  of  existence  during  life, 
and  our  immortality,  depend  upon  it  also.  In  pur- 
suing our  true  end,  therefore,  we  increase,  not  only 
our  happiness  and  perfection,  but  also  the  sum  and 
duration  of  our  existence. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  principal  points  of  Spinoza5s 
moral  system.  I  feel  that  I  ought  once  again  to 
say,  that  I  am  unable  to  reconcile  this  portion 
of  his  opinions  with  those  principles  which  he  has 
professed  in  relation  to  God  and  man,  and  which 
I  have  described  in  a  former  lecture.  Still  it  is 
undeniable  that  these  two  portions  of  his  system  do 
coexist,  and,  therefore,  it  was  my  duty  to  give  you 
an  idea  of  the  second,  as  well  as  of  the  first,  if  I 
would  not  leave  incomplete  this  rapid  exposition. 
It  was  necessary,  also,  to  prepare  you  for  an  under- 
standing of  the  ethics  of  Spinoza,  which  I  shall 
exhibit  to  you  hereafter,  and  to  explain  the  existence 
of  any  such  thing  as  ethics  in  the  most  viast,  most 
absolute,  and,  notwithstanding  this  contradiction,  the 
most  rigorous  system  of  pantheism,  which  the  hand 
of  philosophy  has  ever  reared. 

I  have  now  completed  my  sketch  of  the  particular 
form  which  Spinoza  has  given  to  pantheism ;  but 
I  should  neglect  the  original  and  principal  design 
of  this  exposition,  if  I  did  not,  before  passing  on 
to  other  systems,  disengage,  from  this  particular  form, 
the  specific  character  of  pantheism  itself,  and  show 
you  how,  by  reason  of  its  essential  quality,  it  always 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  193 

leads,  by  a  strict  necessity,  to  the  denial  of  human 
liberty,  and  consequently  to  the  belief  that  a  law  of 
obligation  is  impossible. 

One  essential  and  constituent  element  of  pantheism 
is  the  suppressing  of  all  particular  causes,  and  the 
concentrating  of  all  causality  in  a  single  being ; 
that  is,  in  God.  This  arises  from  another  elemont 
of  pantheism,  yet  more  essential,  which  consists  in 
suppressing  all  particular  beings,  and  concentrating 
all  existence  in  one  sole  being,  which  is  God.  If 
there  is  but  one  substance,  there  is  but  one  cause ; 
for  without  substance  there  can  be  only  phenomena ; 
and  phenomena  can  only  transmit  action ;  they  can- 
not produce  ii.  Pantheism,  laying  down  the  principle, 
therefore,  that  there  can  be  only  one  being  and  one 
cause,  and  that  the  universe  is  only  a  vast  phenome- 
non, necessarily  concentrates  in  God  all  liberty,  even 
if  it  attributes  liberty  to  him,  and  necessarily  denies 
it  every  where  else.  Man  and  all  other  beings,  there- 
fore, lose  their  quality  of  being  and  of  cause,  and 
become  only  attributes  and  acts  of  the  divine  substance 
and  cause.  Deprived  thus  of  ail  proper  causality, 
man  is  also  deprived,  at  the  same  time,  of  all  liberty, 
and,  consequently,  can  have  neither  a  law  of  obliga- 
tion, nor  a  controlling  power  over  his  own  conduct. 
Such  are  the  evident  and  necessary  consequences 
of  pantheism  ;  and  the  pantheist,  who  does  not  adopt 
them,  either  does  not  comprehend  his  owa  opinions, 
or  is  voluntarily  false  to  them. 

Thus,  wherever  pantheism  manifests  itself  in  a 
practical  form,  —  as  in  India,  for  example,  —  it  leads 
directly  to  passiveness  or  licentiousness.  Men  brought 
VOL.  i.  R 


194  JOUFFROY. 

up  in  this  faith,  considering  themselves  as  phenomena, 
and  their  acts,  whatever  they  may  do,  as  the  acts 
of  God,  view  all  conduct  with  indifference;  and  this 
leads  them  either  to  commit  the  most  detestable  acts 
without  remorse,  or  to  abandon  themselves  without 
care  or  thought  to  the  currents  of  that  mighty  ocean, 
on  whose  bosom  they  are  but  insignificant  drops. 
Such  are  the  fruits  which  this  system  has  always 
produced  in  the  East,  and  they  are  its  legitimate 
results ;  pantheism  should  never  disavow  them. 

You  \vill  thus  see,  gentlemen,  that  I  had  reason 
for  classing  the  system  of  pantheism  among  those 
which  render,  a  priori,  the  existence  of  a  law  of 
obligation  impossible;  and,  if  it  is  ground  enough 
upon  which  to  condemn  any  doctrine  as  false  that  it 
leads  to  such  a  result,  pantheism  must  be  condemned. 
Does  it  deserve  this  sentence  1  Does  pantheism, 
like  necessity  and  mysticism,  rest,  for  its  foundation, 
upon  error  ?  To  my  mind,  it  is  undeniable  that  it 
does ;  and  a  few  words  only  will  be  needed  to  point 
out  to  you  the  source  of  this  system  in  human  nature, 
and  its  radical  defect. 

We  have  two  kinds  of  knowledge,  derived  from 
different  sources.  When  we  direct  our  perceptive 
faculties  to  that  portion  of  real  being  which  is 
actually  before  us  and  within  our  reach,  there  arise 
in  our  minds  ideas  or  notions,  which  are  images 
of  what  we  have  observed.  Hence  the  first  kind 
of  knowledge,  given  by  observation,  whose  character- 
istic it  is  to  represent  whatever  observation  has 
grasped  —  or,  in  other  words,  whatever  actually  is. 
If  all  our  knowledge  was  of  this  kind,  we  should 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  195 

possess,  indeed,  particular  and  even  general  truths, 
representing  a  portion  of  what  actually  exists  and 
happens ;  but  it  is  plain  that  we  should  possess  nothing 
which  reached  to  or  represented  what  ought  to  be : 
that  is  to  say,  we  should  know  only  a  portion  of  that 
which  now  is  and  now  happens,  and  not  all  which  can 
be  and  can  happen.  Now  that  we  have  knowledge,  - 
the  truth  of  which  does  reach  to  all  possible  cases,  — 
does  embrace  all  times,  —  and  represent  not  only  the 
portion  of  real  being  observed  by  us,  but  all  reality,  — 
this,  gentlemen,  is  undeniable ;  and  equally  undeniable 
is  it,  that  observation  could  never  have  given  us  such 
knowledge,  for  observation  extends  only  to  a  deter- 
mined and  circumscribed  portion  of  real  being,  and, 
consequently,  can  never  produce  more  than  particular 
and  limited  notions. 

Universal  notions,  therefore,  must  spring  from  an- 
other source,  and  that  is  reason.  The  observation  of 
certain  facts,  now  existing,  is  the  occasion  when 
reason  conceives  at  once  of  other  facts,  which 
cannot  but  be,  and  which,  having  thus  a  necessary 
existence,  must  always  have  been,  and  will  always 
be;  and  hence  arise  truths,  limited  to  no  time  nor 
place,  and  applicable  to  all  possible  cases.  Such, 
for  instance,  is  the  truth,  that  every  effect  has  a 
cause  —  a  truth  which  reason  instantly  conceives  when 
a  fact  is  seen  to  occur,  and  which,  when  once  con- 
ceived, extends  to  all  cases,  all  times,  all  places, 
appears  to  us  universal,  absolute,  without  possible 
exception,  and  seems,  in.  a  word,  to  represent  and 
express  not  only  that  which  is,  but  also  that  which 
must  be  and  cannot  but  be. 


196  JOUFFROY. 

There  are,  therefore,  in  our  minds,  two  kinds  of 
knowledge,  arid  two  distinct  sources  of  knowledge  , 
first,  particular  and  general  knowledge,  representing 
what  now  is,  and  obtained  by  observation;  and,  sec- 
ondly, universal  and  absolute  knowledge,  represent- 
ing what  ought  to  be,  and  which  is  the  fruit  of 
the  a  priori  conceptions  of  reason. 

And  now,  when  we  apply  to  truth  of  this  latter 
kind,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  absolute  principles, 
conceived  a  priori  by  reason,  the  reasoning,  which 
is  quite  another  thing  from  reason,  and  draw  from 
these  principles  the  logical  consequences  flowing 
from  them,  we  arrive  at  an  idea  of  the  world, 
which  does  not  agree  at  all  with  the  idea  obtained 
from  observation ;  reason  conceiving,  a  priori,  that 
which  ought  to  be,  and  observation  testifying  to 
that  which  now  is. 

It  is  to  the  former  of  these  two  modes  of  ob- 
taining knowledge,  that  pantheism  trusts.  The  pan- 
theist takes,  then,  absolute  principles,  conceived,  a 
priori,  by  the  reason,  and  the  notions  of  cause, 
of  being,  of  time,  space,  &/c.,  comprehended  and 
implied  in  these  principles;  and  then  applying  rea- 
soning to  these  premises,  he  determines,  by  logical 
deduction,  what  real  being  must  be,  without  taking 
any  count  of  the  testimony  given  directly  to  all 
men,  by  observation,  of  a  portion  of  what  actually 
now  is. 

Such  is  the  manner  in  which  pantheism  acquires 
knowledge ;  and  here  we  discover  the  source  of  the 
false  idea  given  by  it  of  all  things.  Had  God  willed 
that  we  should  become  acquainted  with  his  works 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  197 

by  reason  only,  he  would  not  have  endowed  us  with 
this  other  faculty,  which  we  call  observation ;  and  as 
he  has  given  us  this  latter  faculty,  and  inspired  us 
also  with  a  faith  in  the  notions  which  it  produces, 
these  notions  cannot  be  useless,  and  must  be  destined 
to  enter,  as  an  element,  and  play  some  part  in  our 
acquisition  of  the  knowledge  of  real  being ;  in  a 
word,  these  notions  must  be  intended  to  modify,  in 
some  sort,  such  notions  of  real  being  as  are  given 
by  simple  reasoning,  when  applied  to  the  d  priori  prin- 
ciples conceived  by  reason. 

This  cooperation  of  observation  with  reason,  pan- 
theism slights ;  this  correction,  applied  by  it  to  the 
wholly  ideal  system  given  by  reason,  pantheism  re- 
jects ;  it  finds  nothing  in  the  idea  which  observation 
gives  of  the  world.  Here  is  the  error,  the  radical 
error  of  pantheism ;  and,  if  we  would  attack  the 
system,  here  is  its  vulnerable  part.  We  must  examine 
the  contradictions  between  the  results  of  pantheism 
and  of  observation,  and  the  ground  of  the  pantheist's 
contempt  for  observation  ;  and,  jf  such  contempt  is 
groundless,  and  he  yet  will  not  admit  the  correction 
which  observation  brings  to  the  pure  ideas  of  reason, 
then  have  we  a  right  to  reproach  him  with  not  re- 
specting the  whole  of  human  intelligence ;  but,  with 
mutilating  it,  by  demanding  of  one  of  its  faculties 
that  representation  of  the  world,  which  can  be  given 
correctly  only  by  a  cooperation  of  all  the  faculties 
with  which  we  are  endowed.  I  limit  myself,  now, 
to  this  simple  observation  :  we  must  follow  out  this 
view,  and  attack  pantheism  upon  this  side,  would  we 
refute  it. 

R2 


198  JOUFFROY. 

Such,  gentlemen, —  and  I  must  ask  your  indulgence 
for  it,  —  is  the  only  refutation  which  the  plan  of  thig 
course  will  permit  me  to  present  of  pantheism.  When 
I  come  to  systems  which  have  drawn  from  the  analy- 
sis of  the  moral  facts  of  our  nature,  opinions  destroy- 
ing or  altering  the  true  idea  of  ethical  science,  I 
shall  refute  them  at  full  length ;  for  they  are,  truly, 
systems  of  ethics,  and,  in  a  course  having  ethics  for 
its  object,  they  must  be  thus  examined  and  refuted;  but 
in  relation  to  systems,  which,  like  this  now  discussed, 
destroy  ethical  science,  by  opinions  foreign  from  the 
moral  facts  of  our  nature,  I  must  be  more  brief.  If 
it  was  my  plan  to  refute  these  doctrines  in  a  manner 
at  all  proportioned  to  their  importance,  there  is  no  one 
to  which  I  should  devote  more  time  than  to  this  of 
pantheism;  but  this  would  destroy  the  proper  plan 
of  my  present  course,  and  prolong,  indefinitely,  your 
attendance.  I  can  only,  therefore,  in  regard  to  such 
systems,  point  out  to  you  the  moral  consequences 
which  they  imply  ;  and,  then,  having  disengaged  clearly 
the  fundamental  idea  on  which  they  are  based,  limit 
myself  to  an  exposure  of  the  radical  error  of  the  idea, 
and  to  a  specification  of  the  precise  particulars  in 
which  it  is  at  variance  with  the  actual  condition  of 
things.  Within  these  limits  I  have  confined  all  my 
observations  upon  the  systems  of  mysticism  and  ne- 
cessity, and  within  the  same  limits  I  have  felt  bound 
to  comprise  the  discussion  of  pantheism. 

I  cannot  close  this  lecture,  gentlemen,  without 
apologizing  for  having  detained  you  so  long  upon 
such  subtile  ideas  as  these  of  which  Spinoza's  system 
is  composed ;  but  so  much  is  said  of  this  system,  and  it 


SYSTEM    OF    PANTHEISM.  199 

is  so  often  cited  by  those  who  have  never  even  opened 
the  works  of  this  great  metaphysician,  that  I  have 
been  glad  to  avail  myself  of  the  opportunity  of  giving 
some  idea  of  it  to  those  who  attend  this  course.  You 
will  see,  even  from  this  succinct  description,  complex 
and  difficult  of  comprehension  as  it  has  been,  how 
guilty  he  must  be  of  levity,  who  appeals  to  Spinoza, 
on  all  occasions,  with  an  air  of  confidence.  For 
myself,  I  declare  I  know  no  labor  so  difficult  in  meta- 
physical study,  as  to  form  a  precise  idea  of  the  sys- 
tem exhibited  in  the  ethics  of  Spinoza ;  and,  if  I 
should  be  asked  to  give  a  detailed  and  complete 
exposition  of  this  system,  I  should  require  not  a  few 
lectures,  but  a  course  of  six  months. 


200  JOUFFROY. 


LECTURE    VIII. 

SYSTEM  OF  SKEPTICISM. 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  the  two  preceding  lectures  it  has  been 
my  desire,  first,  to  exhibit  the  system  of  pantheism 
under  the  form  in  which  it  was  presented  by  Spinoza, 
and  then,  putting  aside  the  peculiarities  of  this  form, 
to  disengage  the  essential  and  fundamental  principles 
of  the  system ;  and  I  have  attempted  thus  to  show  the 
manner  in  which  these  principles  sap  the  foundations 
of  morality,  and  the  radical  error  which  justifies  all 
sound  philosophy  in  rejecting  them.  I  have  now  done 
with  pantheism ;  and  in  this  lecture  I  proceed,  there- 
fore, at  once  to  the  system  of  skepticism,  the  fourth 
and  last  that  I  proposed  to  examine. 

It  is  not  in  the  nature  of  European  nations  to 
slight  real  being,  and  to  substitute  for  it  the  pure 
conceptions  of  reason,  or  the  chimerical  visions  of 
imagination;  for  they  are  endowed  in  general  with  a 
spirit  that  is  practical,  exact,  and  observing.  Not  so 
with  the  nations  of  the  East.  Opposite  dispositions 
incline  them  rather  to  mysticism  and  pantheism. 
Skepticism  has,  therefore,  occupied,  in  the  progress 
of  European  philosophy,  since  its  birth  in  Greece  to 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  201 

the  present  time,  a  far  larger  space  than  pantheism; 
and,  while  few  adherents  only  have  been  added  to 
the  latter,  skeptics  have  been  innumerable.  Again, 
there  is  but  one  way  for  becoming  a  pantheist, 
but  a  thousand  for  becoming  a  skeptic.  The  cer- 
tainty of  human  knowledge  may  be  attacked  in  a 
thousand  different  ways ;  and,  satisfied  with  the  one 
that  we  have  followed,  we  may  suppose  ourselves  vic- 
torious, and  become  skeptics.  For  these  two  reasons, 
a  complete  exposition  of  the  foundations  of  skepti- 
cism, as  they  have  been  exhibited  during  the  two 
thousand  years  of  European  philosophy,  is  far  from 
being  an  easy  undertaking,  and  would  require  a  much 
more  detailed  discussion  than  I  have  given  to  the 
system  of  pantheism.  But  I  will  endeavor,  in  the 
present  lecture,  to  consider,  in  a  rapid  and  concise 
manner,  not,  indeed,  all  the  arguments  of  skeptics 
against  the  certainty  of  human  knowledge,  but  still 
the  main  principles  upon  which  those  arguments  rest. 
I  invite,  therefore,  your  closest  attention. 

Human  knowledge  is  something  intermediate,  be- 
tween the  mind  that  knows  and  the  thing  known  ; 
or,  in  other  words,  it  is  the  representation,  the 
image  of  real  being  in  the  intellect.  Three  ele- 
ments, then,  are  to  be  distinguished  in  the  phenom- 
enon of  knowledge  —  the  subject  of  knowledge,  that 
is  to  say,  the  intellect  acquiring  it ;  the  object  of 
knowledge,  that  is,  the  real  being  represented; 
and  lastly,  the  knowledge  itself,  or  the  represen- 
tation in  the  intellect  of  the  real  being.  This  being 
premised,  knowledge  is  true,  if  it  is  a  faithful  image 
of  tb^,  object ;  it  is  false,  if  it  is  an  unfaithful  one 


202 


JOUFFROY 


The  efforts  of  those,  therefore,  who  desire  to  prove 
that  we  know  nothing  with  certainty,  must  be  directed 
wholly  to  the  point  of  showing  that  human  knowledge 
is  not  a  faithful  representation  of  its  object ;  and 
those  who  wish  to  maintain  the  certainty  of  human 
knowledge  must  prove  the  contrary. 

.Such  is  the  battle-field,  where  skepticism  and  dog- 
matism contend.  The  controversy  between  them  re- 
duces itself  to  this  question  —  Is  human  knowledge,  or 
is  it  not,  a  faithful  image  of  real  being?  And,  as  in 
every  act  of  knowing  there  are  three  elements, — the 
knowledge  itself,  the  subject  attaining  it,  and  the  ob- 
ject represented,  —  skeptical  systems  pretend  to  prove, 
by  an  analysis  of  human  knowledge,  of  the  real 
being  represented,  and  of  the  intellect,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  answer  the  question  in  the  affirmative. 

The  nature  of  knowledge,  the  nature  of  the  object 
of  knowledge,  and  the  nature  of  the  subject  of  knowl- 
edge, are  the  three  sources  whence  all  arguments  of 
skepticism  must  necessarily  and  do  actually  proceed. 
You  will  see  how  all  these  arguments  fall  successively 
under  one  of  these  three  great  heads.  I  shall  limit 
myself  to  the  principal  ones,  and  will  begin  with  those 
which  are  drawn  from  the  nature  o/  knowledge  itself. 

The  first  defect  to  be  observed  in  human  knowledge 

o 

is  its  incompleteness ;  and  this  is  a  defect  which  cannot 
be  denied.  No  one  has  ever  had  the  boldness  to 
assert,  that  man  is  capable  of  arriving  at  complete 
knowledge;  it  is  evidently  impossible;  it  is  an  achieve- 
ment to  which  humanity  has  never  had  the  presumption 
to  aspire.  Yet  more;  we  acknowledge  at  once  that 
even  surh  knowledge  as  we  are  competent  to  gainy 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  203 

is  but  small  in  comparison  with  our  ignorance.  Our 
knowledge,  therefore,  must  be  incomplete. 

Now,  if  human  knowledge  is  necessarily  incomplete, 
and  so  very  incomplete,  what  faith  can  we  repose  in  it? 
That  any  element  of  knowledge  may  be  perfectly 
conceived  and  comprehended,  is  it  not  necessary  that 
all  other  elements  of  knowledge  should  be  present 
also  to  the  intellect  ?  Each  portion  of  real  being 
has  relations  to  every  other  portion  ;  and,  if  we  are 
ignorant  of  these,  and  of  the  relations  connecting 
them  with  what  we  do  know,  then  even  this  knowledge 
must  be  imperfect,  and,  consequently,  not  to  be 
depended  on.  Thus,  from  the  consideration  that 
human  knowledge  is  incomplete,  comes  the  first  argu- 
ment against  the  faith  which  we  blindly  repose  in  it. 

But  let  us  forget,  for  a  time,  this  imperfection 
of  our  knowledge,  and  consider  its  characteristics. 
And  what  do  we  see  1  We  see  that  this  incomplete 
knowledge  has  no  durability  nor  permanence.  On 
the  very  same  question,  the  human  mind  in  successive 
ages  passes  from  one  opinion  to  another,  and  never 
attaches  itself  firmly  to  any.  This  mutability  of 
human  opinion  is  displayed  in  the  history  of  every 
nation.  That  which  we  call  the  life  of  a  nation 
is  nothing  more  than  the  perpetual  transformations 
of  its  ideas  upon  the  most  important  subjects.  This 
mutability,  however,  goes  yet  further  ;  it  reaches  to 
individuals  as  well  as  to  nations,  and  the  human  race  : 
however  short  life  may  be,  —  however  rapid  the  passage 
of  man  across  this  earthly  scene,  from  infancy  to 
youth,  from  youth  to  mature  years,  from  maturity, 
to  old  age,  from  year  to  year,  from  month  to  month, 


204  JOUFFROY. 

from  week  to  week,  —  his  opinions  alter  and  are  modi- 
fied or  changed  on  every  point ;  so  that  there  is  muta- 
bility in  individuals  as  well  as  in  communities,  and  in 
communities  as  well  as  in  the  race. 

This  is  not  all,  gentlemen ;  this  mutability  of 
human  opinions  in  time  becomes,  if  I  may  say  so, 
diversity  in  space.  Take  the  human  race,  in  any 
given  age,  and  consider  it  in  the  different  nations 
which  compose  it,  and  you  will  find,  among  these 
different  nations,  the  greatest  diversity  of  opinions 
upon  the  most  important  points.  You  will  see  that 
Americans  do  not  think  about  them  like  Europeans, 
nor  Europeans  like  Asiatics.  You  will  see  that 
neighboring  nations,  divided  only  by  a  river,  a  moun- 
tain, or  an  imaginary  line,  profess  wholly  different 
opinions  upon  the  same  points ;  and  this  diversity 
you  will  find  in  the  bosom  of  each  nation,  throughout 
every  family,  whose  members  will  differ  one  from 
another.  And  these  opinions,  which  succeed  each 
other  in  time,  or  coexist  in  space,  are  distinguished 
not  only  by  faint  shades  of  difference  from  each  other, 
but  often  the  diversity  .approaches  absolute  contra- 
diction. Hence  the  faith  of  one  place  or  age  is 
precisely  opposite  to  that  of  another  age  or  place. 
And  the  same  questions  about  real  being  are  forever 
agitated  anew. 

If  human  knowledge,  in  its  natural  development, 
presents  to  the  observer  such  a  spectacle,  what  follows? 
Does  it  not  follow,  that  this  very  real  being,  which  is 
the  object  of  knowledge,  —  and  which  knowledge,  to 
be  true,  must  faithfully  represent,  —  offers  different  or 
contradictory  appearances  to  human  intelligence,  ac- 


SI  STEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  295 

cording  to  times,  places,  circumstances,  and  indi- 
viduals? To  which,  now,  of  these  impressions  and 
representations,  shall  1  give  the  name  of  truth  ?  To 
which  shall  I  trust  ?  Shall  I  believe  in  the  opinions 
of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  or  in  those  of  our  own 
times?  Shall  I  prefer  our  own  opinions  to  those  of  the 
Chinese,  or  those  of  the  Chinese  to  those  of  the  Amer- 
ican Indians?  Are  not  all  these  opinions  equally 
human  knowledge?  Do  they  not  equally  exist  in 
human  intelligence?  On  what  ground  shall  I  prefer 
one  to  another  ?  For  what  reason  shall  I  put  faith 
in  one,  and  refuse  it  to  all  others  ?  There  is  evidently 
no  legitimate  ground  for  choice ;  and  yet  I  can  believe 
in  them  only  on  such  a  condition.  I  ought  not,  then, 
to  believe  at  all ;  for  I  have  no  right  to  believe. 

Let  us  pass  now  from  the  spectacle  offered  by  human 
knowledge  itself,  to  the  object  of  knowledge,  and  the 
motives  for  doubt  will  appear  equally  strong. 

The  object  of  knowledge,  or  real  being,  is  made  up, 
partly  of  that  which  is  within  the  reach  of  observa- 
tion, and  partly  of  that  which  is  beyond  it.  The 
surface  only  reveals  itself;  the  depths  are  hidden. 

There  are,  therefore,  if  I  may  say  so,  two  elements 

of  the  object  of   knowledge  —  the    apparent   element 

and  the  hidden  element  —  the  surface  and  the  depths, 

—  qualities  and  effects    on  the    one    side,    substance 

and  causes  on  the   other. 

Now,  of  these  two  elements,  the  one  actually  within 
our  reach  is,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  most  mutable. 
You  know  what  modifications  and  transformations  all 
bodies,  all  beings,  animate  and  inanimate,  which 
people  the  vast  creation,  perpetually  undergo.  There 
VOL.  i.  s 


206  JOUFFROY. 

is  not  a  body  that  is  not  incessantly  subjected  to  the 
action  of  a  thousand  different  causes,  which,  from 
moment  to  moment,  from  week  to  week,  from  month 
to  month,  from  year  to  year,  alter,  change,  transform 
it,  and  leave  it  not  one  instant  the  same.  The  sur- 
face of  objects,  then,  with  which  we  are  acquainted, 
is  not  a  stable  and  permanent  object.  Far  from  it, 
gentlemen ;  it  is  something  forever  fluctuating  and 
never  abiding;  it  is  the  successive  waves  of  a  passing 
stream;  a  fugitive  appearance,  replaced  each  moment 
by  others,  which,  in  turn,  give  place  to  others  which 
succeed.  What,  now,  can  the  knowledge  given  by 
observation  represent,  except  some  one  of  these 
ephemeral  appearances  ?  To-morrow,  an  hour,  or  a 
minute  hence,  this  knowledge  will  represent  what 
has  already  passed  away,  and  no  longer  exists.  The 
notions  which  we  have  acquired  and  laid  up  in  our 
minds,  then,  are  faithful  and  true  only  for  the 
moment  when  they  are  first  received ;  the  next  mo- 
ment they  have  ceased  to  be  so,  for  that  of  which  they 
were  the  type  has  already  gone,  and  something  else 
supplies  its  place. 

If  this  is  true  of  our  knowledge  of  surfaces  pre- 
sented to  the  eye,  what  can  our  knowledge  be  of  the 
depths  of  being  which  are  hidden  ?  We  can  explain  the 
acquisition  of  this  latter  kind  of  knowledge  only  in  one 
of  two  ways ;  either  we  infer  it  from  the  knowledge 
of  the  surface,  or  our  reason  conceives  it  a  priori. 
If  we  admit  that  it  is  in  the  former  mode,  then, 
I  ask,  is  the  induction  from  the  variable  to  the  con- 
stant, from  the  accessary  to  the  principal,  a  legitimate 
one?  The  portion  of  real  being  observed  is  not  only 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  207 


(he  smaller  portion,  but  it  is  the  least  important,  and 
is  essentially  secondary.  What  are  qualities  when 
compared  with  substance,  or  effects  when  compared 
with  causes?  What  is  the  finite,  the  transient,  the 
variable,  when  compared  with  the  infinite,  the  du- 
rable, the  immutable?  Evidently,  the  premises  on 
which  we  reason  cannot  support,  or  make  legitimate, 
the  conclusions  which,  it  is  pretended,  we  can  deduce 
from  them.  But  have  we  even  these  premises  them- 
selves ?  Have  we  not  just  seen  that  we  neither  have, 
nor  can  have,  any  true  knowledge  of  the  surfaces  of 
things ;  and,  that  such  knowledge  as  we  think  we 
have,  neither  does  nor  can  represent  any  thing, 
except  for  the  moment  when  it  is  received  ?  Were 
the  pretended  premises,  then,  sufficient  to  sustain  our 
reasoning,  it  might  still  be  said,  with  truth,  that  we 
had  no  such  premises. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  conceive  a  priori  of  that 
portion  of  real  being,  which  is  beyond  observation, 
what  authority  have  we  for  such  a  conception?  What 
else  is  this  but  a  divination,  a  presumption,  the  ex- 
actness and  authority  of  which  we  cannot  prove? 
When  my  reason  conceives  necessarily  of  what  my 
observation  cannot  reach,  —  when  it  forms  an  idea 
which  it  cannot  but  form,  a  necessary,  an  irresistible 
idea,  —  I  immediately  conclude,  it  is  true,  that  this  idea 
does  faithfully  represent  real  being ;  but  where  are  the 
demonstrative  proof  and  authority  for  this?  Singular 
reasoning,  indeed,  which  determines  the  truth  of  an 
idea  from  its  necessity,  from  the  blind  instinct  pro- 
ducing it !  Be  it,  then,  that  human  intelligence  does 


208  JOUFFROY. 

draw  conclusions  as  to  the  depths  of  being,  from  its 
surface,  —  be  it  that  it  does  form  conceptions  of  it  d 
priori, — it  is  still  impossible  to  establish,  in  any 
thorough  manner,  the  certainty  of  such  knowledge. 
And,  since  the  knowledge  representing  the  surface  of 
things,  and  derived  immediately  from  observation,  is 
liable  to  no  less  weighty  objections,  it  follows,  from 
a  careful  analysis  of  the  object  of  knowledge,  that, 
so  far  from  being  led  to  any  convincing  proof  that 
human  knowledge  is  true,  we  seem  to  be  furnished 
with  a  thousand  reasons  for  thinking  that  it  is  not 
true,  and  that  it  cannot  and  ought  not  to  be 
trusted. 

But,  gentlemen,  such  objections  as  these  are  slight, 
are  nothing,  in  comparison  with  others  which  skep- 
ticism has  drawn  from  the  very  nature  of  human 
intelligence  itself,  or,  in  other  words,  from  the 
subject  of  knowledge. 

We  have  just  seen,  in  analyzing  the  object  of 
knowledge,  that  it  is  not  fixed,  but  essentially  mu- 
table and  variable.  The  same  may  be  said,  and  with 
yet  more  reason,  of  the  subject  of  knowledge,  that  is, 
of  man  himself.  When  we  consider  man  only  as  to  his 
corporeal  frame,  a  perpetual  transformation,  like  that 
which  we  observe  in  all  things  else,  is  equally  observa- 
ble in  him.  The  human  body  remains  for  no  two 
successive  moments  identically  the  same ;  the  particles 
composing  it  are  every  moment  giving  place  to  others ; 
and  yet  this  body,  which  is  forever  thus  incessantly 
renewing  itself,  is  the  instrument  used  in  acquiring 
knowledge ;  as  it  changes,  the  apparatus  of  the  senses 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  209 

change ;  and,  if  the  senses  alter,  our  knowledge  must 
be  affected,  even  if  the  intellect  itself  remains  immut- 
able. 

But  yet  more,  a  crowd  of  circumstances,  a  multi- 
tude of  various  influences,  tend,  in  addition  to  the 
body,  to  modify  our  knowledge.  Man  is  changed  by 
years ;  he  is  neither  intellectually  nor  physically  the 
same  when  old,  as  when  young,  when  mature,  as  when 
a  child ;  he  is  changed,  and  his  faculty  of  intelligence, 
also,  by  sickness  and  by  health :  that  a  sick  man 
sees  nothing  as  a  well  man  does,  everyone  knows; 
and  between  these  two  extreme  states  there  is  an 
infinite  number  of  intermediate  bodily  states,  each 
producing  analogous  states  of  mind,  which,  by  color- 
ing every  object  with  varying  hues,  introduce  new 
changes  in  our  knowledge.  How  shall  we  choose, 
with  any  degree  of  certainty,  between  ideas  received 
during  sleep,  and  when  we  are  awake  ?  Are  not  the 
faculties  acting  when  we  are  asleep,  the  same  which 
we  employ  when  awake?  And,  if  the  same,  have 
they  not  the  same  authority?  And  what  a  difference, 
too,  do  we  find  between  impressions  of  real  being, 
received  at  different  times !  Of  two  images  of  the 
same  thing,  shall  reason  prefer  one,  and  reject  the 
other?  If  there  is  any  sure,  unquestionable  criterion, 
let  us  know  what  it  is.  Such  a  criterion  can  be  no 
more  found,  than  one  authorizing  us  to  prefer  the 
knowledge  of  a  man,  who  has  retained  his  reason, 
to  that  of  one  who  has  lost  it.  For,  in  such  a  case, 
what  do  I  see  1  Only  two  different  states  of  the 
same  human  intelligence.  And,  I  ask,  on  what 
ground  am  I  justified  in  declaring,  or  by  what  signs 


210  JOUFFROY. 

can  I  determine  that  the  ideas  acquired  in  the  one  case 
are  true,  and  in  the  other  false  ?  The  only  objection 
that  can  be  brought  against  the  insane  man  is,  that  he 
sees  things  differently  from  the  great  body  of  mankind. 
But  a  majority  is  no  criterion  of  the  truth ;  and  no 
more  will  this  criterion  avail  to  determine  between  the 
ideas  of  sleep  and  waking. 

Independently  of  these  causes  of  change,  which  by 
modifying  the  subject  modify  our  knowledge,  there  are 
many  others,  affecting,  in  a  no  less  evident,  manner,  all 
our  ideas  and  opinions.  For  instance,  does  not  educa- 
tion determine,  or  at  least  contribute  much  towards  de- 
termining, our  ideas,  upon  the  most  important  matters? 
Do  we  not  receive  these  ideas  ready  made  from  the 
persons  who  surround  us  in  infancy,  and  from  all  who 
may  accidentally  compose  our  family?  And  what  shall 
we  say  of  that  education,  more  powerful  and  extensive 
than  that  of  family,  to  which  we  are  all  subjected,  and 
which  influences  us  in  spite  of  ourselves,  and  without 
our  knowing  it,  the  education  of  the  religion,  laws,  insti- 
tutions, customs,  prejudices,  and  manners  of  our  coun- 
try, —  in  a  word,  of  all  circumstances  contributing  to 
form  the  intellectual  atmosphere  under  which  our  intelli- 
gence is  developed  ?  Must  not  all  these  causes  modify 
prodigiously,  and  in  a  thousand  different  ways,  human 
ideas,  without  any  change  in  real  being?  And  now,  if 
we  add  the  influence  of  the  passions,  and  of  interest, 
upon  our  judgment,  of  rank  and  profession,  of  physical 
conformation,  and  of  character,  of  climate,  food,  and 
a  thousand  other  causes,  we  shall  find  that  their  influ- 
ence is  equally  various  and  great.  These  infinite  diver- 
sities in  our  ideas  of  real  being  are  not  produced  by 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  211 

real  being  itself;  it  is  not  real  being  that  introduces  the 
different  ideas,  notions,  judgments  of  the  fool  and  of  the 
sage,  of  the  sick  and  of  the  well,  of  the  child  and  of 
the  aged,  of  the  idolater  and  of  the  Christian,  of  the 
Chinese  and  of  the  European,  upon  the  same  subjects, 
where  real  being  is  the  same  for  all.  This  difference 
of  ideas  is  owing  to  the  mutability  of  the  subject  itself. 
And  how,  then,  can  we  trust  to  the  truth  and  fidelity 
of  these  ideas'? 

In  order  that  knowledge  may  be  faithful,  is  it  not  a 
necessary  condition,  that  it  should  be  the  pure  result  of 
the  impression  of  real  being  upon  the  intellect  ?  Hu- 
man intellect  should  therefore  be  a  calm,  clear  mirror, 
in  which  the  image  of  the  reality  may  be  reflected. 
But  if  the  mirror  is  subject  to  the  action  of  a  thousand 
causes  which  modify  it,  and  thus  alter  the  image,  sup- 
plying its  place  by  thousands  having  no  resemblance 
to  the  reality,  what  confidence  can  we  feel  in  these 
images?  And  even  when  one  is  faithful,  how  can  it  be 
separated  and  distinguished? 

But  we  must  go  yet  further ;  we  must  analyze  the 
operation  of  the  various  faculties  of  this  intellect, 
which  we  have  thus  far  examined  as  a  whole,  and  see  if 
they  act  separately  in  so  regular  a  manner  as  to  author- 
ize us  to  place  confidence  in  such  results  as  they  may 
give.  And  to  begin  with  the  senses;  we  all  know  that 
they  do  often  deceive  us ;  no  philosopher  has  ever  dis- 
puted it.  No  one  doubts  that  each  sense  gives,  at 
different  times,  different  representations  of  the  same 
object,  and  that  the  different  senses  contradict  one 
another.  The  various  elements  of  our  faculty  of  intel- 
ligence, therefore,  contradict  each  other,  and  contradict 


JOUFFROY. 

themselves.  What  confidence,  then,  can  we  feel  in  it, 
and  to  which  of  its  opposing  testimonies  shall  we  trust  ? 
And  again,  who  can  assure  us  that  the  eye  sees,  or 
that  the  ear  hears,  or  that  the  touch  feels,  in  one  indi- 
vidual as  it  does  in  another.?  That  which  is  yellow  to 
me,  may  be  blue  to  another,  to  another  red,  to  another 
black.  And  how  can  I  determine  whether  this  is  the 
case  or  not  ?  These  names  signify  only  that  to  each 
person  the  same  objects  appear  constantly  of  the  same 
color,  but  by  no  means  that  all  who  use  the  same  word 
have  a  sensation  of  the  same  color.  We  should  still 
agree  in  the  language  used,  even  if  what  I  saw  as  yel- 
low should  be  red  to  you.  The  senses  may  be,  there- 
fore, faculties  quite  peculiar  in  each  individual,  and 
may  give  wholly  different  reports  to  different  men ;  and 
yet  it  is  upon  their  testimony  that  the  greater  part  of 
knowledge  derived  from  observation  must  rest. 

Our  immediate  knowledge,  derived  from  the  second 
source,  reason,  is  based  on  no  better  authority.  I  have 
already  said,  gentlemen,  that  reason  does  not  believe  in 
any  thing  from  a  perception  of  it,  as  observation  does, 
but  from  a  judgment  that  it  ought  to  be,  and  because 
she  cannot  conceive  of  its  not  being.  But  is  this  a  proof 
that  what  she  believes  in  really  does  exist?  What, 
because  my  reason  cannot  but  admit  the  existence  of 
something,  does  it  follow  that  it  really  has  existence? 
Will  a  proposition  express  a  universal  law  of  real  being, 
simply  because  my  intellect  feels  itself  forced  by  a 
blind  necessity,  and  without  proof,  to  admit  it?  This  is 
the  only  and  sole  motive  for  believing  in  the  truth  of 
the  a  priori  principles  of  our  reason  ;  for  that  they  do 
not  prove  themselves,  all  philosophers  agree  in  acknowl- 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM. 

edging.  But  what  is  such  belief  as  this,  except  an  act 
of  blind  and  instinctive  faith  ?  What  else  is  it  except 
believing  without  proof,  that  is  to  say,  without  reason 
for  believing  ?  This  would  be  true,  even  if  men  were 
agreed  as  to  the  number  and  nature  of  the  principles 
which  we  are  obliged  to  believe  in  thus  blindly.  But 
no  such  agreement  is  to  be  found  in  the  system  of 
philosophers.  The  list  of  these  principles  given  by 
Aristotle,  is  not  the  list  given  by  Kant ;  and  Kant's 
differs  from  that  of  any  other  philosopher.  It  is  en- 
larged or  reduced  arbitrarily.  In  one  list  are  elements 
not  found  in  another ;  and  yet  worse,  even  those  may 
be  disputed  which  are  found  in  all.  Many  have  been 
rejected,  for  strong  reasons,  by  different  philosophers. 
Hume,  for  instance,  has  dissected  the  principle  of 
causality,  seemingly  so  evident  a  one,  and,  in  the  judg- 
ment of  many,  has  succeeded  in  showing  that  it  has  no 
sound  foundation,  but  is  a  simple  illusion  of  the  human 
mind.  Condillac  has  done  the  same  with  the  principle 
of  substance,  by  virtue  of  which  we  believe  that  there 
can  be  no  such  thing  as  whiteness,  without  something 
that  is  white.  The  substance  of  bodies,  according  to 
this  philosopher,  is  nothing  more  than  the  aggregate  of 
the  qualities  of  bodies.  Some  have  denied  the  exist- 
ence of  space,  others  that  of  duration ;  so  that,  admit- 
ting the  fact  of  this  blind  faith,  on  which  they  are 
founded,  the  a  priori  principles  of  reason  are  still  open 
to  controversy  and  denial. 

Thus  much  of  the  two  faculties,  which  are  the 
sources  of  our  immediate  knowledge.  And  now  it  may 
be  added  that  the  intellectual  processes,  going  on  within 


214  JOUFFROY. 

us  in  relation  to  the  information  thus  given,  will  bear 
critical  examination  no  better. 

These  processes  may  be  all  described  by  the  one 
word  reasoning.  Observation  having  supplied  us  with 
certain  representations  of  real  being,  and  reason  having 
furnished  us  with  what  appear  to  be  necessary  princi- 
ples, intellect  is  capable  of  only  the  one  act  of  arrang- 
ing this  knowledge,  and  of  drawing  conclusions  from 
these  premises,  that  is,  of  reasoning.  If  we  add  to 
these  premises  the  consequences  deduced  from  them  by 
reasoning,  we  have  the  whole  of  human  knowledge. 

And  since  it  has  been  shown  that  observation  and 
reason  give  us  nothing  upon  which  we  can  surely 
depend,  it  follows  that  the  conclusions  drawn  by  rea- 
soning from  such  uncertain  and  fluctuating  information 
must  have  the  same  characteristics,  and  be  uncertain 
and  fluctuating  too.  But  the  very  reasoning  itself,  even 
if  we  should  suppose  the  information  given  to  be  sure 
and  fixed,  —  the  very  reasoning  itself  is  a  fallible  and 
variable  instrument  for  acquiring  knowledge.  You  well 
know  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there  are  constantly  great 
mistakes  in  reasoning,  and  that  it  is  thus  proved  that  the 
faculty  of  reasoning  is  not  infallible;  for,  if  you  give  the 
same  premises  to  two  persons,  you  know  it  is  possible 
that  they  will  deduce  from  them,  though  they  are  iden- 
tical, diametrically  opposite  conclusions.  Nothing  is 
easier,  as  people  of  all  times,  ancient  and  modern,  have 
acknowledged,  than  to  find  arguments  of  seeming  equal 
strength  for  or  against  any  given  proposition.  Car- 
neades,  and  the  sophists  before  him,  and  advocates  all 
over  the  world  since,  have  succeeded  perfectly  in  this 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  215 

game,  which  would  be  impossible,  if  reasoning  was  not 
a  deceptive  instrument. 

This  sad  view  of  our  faculties,  gentlemen,  is  dis- 
heartening enough ;  and  yet  I  must  not  omit  the  consid- 
eration of  memory,  playing,  as  it  does,  so  important  a 
part  in  our  acquisition  of  knowledge. 

Memory  lends  its  aid  in  all  the  operations  of  our 
minds,  and  performs  an  important  part  both  in  obser- 
vation and  in  reasoning;  as  both  of  these  proceed  by 
successive  steps.  If  memory,  then,  is  fallible,  and  its 
communications  uncertain,  the  authority  of  all  our 
knowledge  must  be  destroyed  at  once.  What,  then,  is 
memory  ?  It  is  the  faculty  which  represents  the  past 
Who  now  is  ignorant,  in  the  first  place,  that  memory 
differs  exceedingly  in  different  persons  ?  In  some  it  is 
more,  in  others  less,  complete  and  sure.  Even  if  mem- 
ory, therefore,  is  incapable  of  altering  the  elements  of 
the  past,  that  is,  of  deceiving,  yet  this  single  fact  of  its 
greater  or  less  degree  of  completeness,  is  sufficient  to 
invalidate  the  truth  of  all  the  intellectual  results,  which 
it  aids  in  producing.  But  who  can  satisfy  us  that 
memory  cannot  deceive  ?  Does  it  not  often  happen 
that  it  represents  the  past  quite  otherwise  than  as  it 
actually  was,  and  as  we  know  it  to  have  been?  And 
if  it  is  said,  that  this  is  because  it  confounds  and  mis- 
takes, not  because  it  deceives,  it  may  yet  be  asked, 
whether  the  result  is  not  the  same  in  the  one  case  as  in 
the  other,  and  whether  a  mistake  does  not  equally  with 
a  falsehood  lead  us  to  believe  what  is  opposite  to  the 
truth  ;  without  adding  the  consideration,  that  the  only 
guaranty  we  can  at  any  time  have  of  the  veracity  of 
memory,  is  the  blind  faith  that  we  repose  in  it. 


216  JOUFFROY. 

If,  now,  to  all  these  reasons  for  doubt  in  the  certainty 
of  our  knowledge,  originating  from  the  fallibility  of 
the  very  faculties  which  communicate  it,  we  add  such 
accessory  causes  as  tend  to  introduce  new  elements  of 
error  into  their  action  ;  if  we  take  also  into  view  the 
illusions,  imaginations,  and  prejudices  of  all  kinds 
which  are  sown  so  thickly  and  spring  up  so  rankly  in 
the  mind,  and  all  the  various  passions  of  our  nature, 
creating,  as  they  do,  so  many  predispositions  and  pre- 
dilections, will  there  not  result  from  such  a  host  of 
reasons  for  doubt,  apparent  on  all  sides,  and  mutually 
supporting  each  other,  a  complete  demonstration  of  the 
uncertainty  of  human  knowledge? 

But  supposing  that  what  we  have  thus  far  said  is 
without  foundation;  supposing  that  our  faculties  are  not 
subject  to  variation  and  error ;  that  they  never  contradict 
themselves,  and  are  perfectly  in  harmony  with  each 
other ;  that  they  never  give  opposing  testimony ;  that  our 
passions  and  imagination  never  confuse  our  reasonings 
and  mental  vision,  —  let  all  this  be  true,  and  yet  the  sup- 
porters of  the  certainty  of  human  knowledge  have  not 
advanced  one  step. 

For,  gentlemen,  there  is  a  skepticism  yet  deeper  than 
this  which  we  have  now  been  considering,  and  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  grows  up  from  such  strong  and  multiplied 
considerations.  There  is  a  skepticism  which  doubts 
of  human  intelligence  itself,  even  when  admitted  to  be 
a  faculty  consistent  with  itself,  and  free  from  contradic- 
tions ;  even  when  admitted  to  be,  as  we  say,  infallible. 

If  all  men,  in  all  epochs  of  society,  should  arrive  at 
the  same  ideas  on  the  same  subjects ;  if  each  man,  at 
different  periods  of  life,  and  in  different  circumstances, 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  217 

should  obtain  always  the  same  results,  when  applying 
his  faculties  to  a  consideration  of  the  same  questions ; 
if  all  the  people  of  any  one  country,  or  of  all  nations 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  should  agree  entirely  and 
unanimously  in  their  sentiments  and  opinions,  upon 
every  subject  whatsoever,  —  even  if  this  should  be  the 
case,  what,  then,  would  follow?  What  more  would  all 
this  be,  than  simply  the  testimony  of  human  intelligence 
in  regard  to  real  being  1  Well !  how  do  we  know  that 
human  intelligence  is  not  so  constituted,  as  to  see 
things  quite  otherwise  than  as  they  actually  are  ?  How 
do  we  know  that  it  is  not  so  organized  as  to  see  as 
square  that  which  is  truly  round,  and  as  yellow  that 
which  is  truly  red,  or  as  good  that  which  is  bad,  and  as 
true  that  which  is  false  ?  Had  God  willed,  as  he  might 
have  done,  so  to  organize  our  intelligence,  that  the 
image  given  by  it  of  real  being  should  be  an  untrue 
one,  like  that  which  water,  when  agitated,  gives  of 
objects  reflected  from  its  surface,  it  would  have  been 
enough,  gentlemen;  by  this  simple  hypothesis,  the 
certainty  of  all  human  knowledge  is  utterly  and  irreme- 
diably destroyed.  To  this  final  objection  of  skepticism 
there  can  be  no  possible  answer,  because  such  an  an- 
swer would  suppose  a  faculty  in  man  enabling  him  to 
judge  between  his  own  intelligence  and  real  being ; 
but  this  is  in  itself  inconceivable;  and  even  if  it  were 
not  so,  the  supposition  would  avail  nothing,  for  this  new 
faculty  would  at  once  become  liable  to  the  very  objec- 
tion which  it  had  been  summoned  to  remove. 

From  this   rapid   sketch  of  the   various   objections 
which    skepticism   has   brought    against   the   truth   of 
human  knowledge,  you  will  see  that  they  all  originate 
VOL.  i.  T 


218  JOUFFROY. 

from  a  consideration  of  human  knowledge  in  itself,  or 

O  ' 

of  the  nature  of  the  object  and  subject  of  this  knowl- 
edge. Mutable  and  unstable  as  are  its  object  on  one 
side,  and  its  subject  on  the  other,  knowledge  cannot  in 
itself  be  either  fixed  or  trustworthy  ;  not  fixed,  because 
its  object  alters,  as  soon  as  knowledge  is  obtained ;  and 
not  trustworthy,  because  no  true  image  of  the  reality 
can  be  reflected  in  so  unstable  a  mirror  ;  and  even  were 
this  not  the  case,  even  were  the  intellect  and  the  object 
of  knowledge  equally  immutable,  it  would  yet  remain  a 
question,  whether  the  intellect  is  fitted  to  give  a  true 
representation  of  real  being.  All  considerations  tend, 
therefore,  to  this  same  conclusion,  that  there  is  no 
ground  for  confidence  in  human  knowledge. 

What,  now,  is  the  immediate  consequence  of  such 
opinions  ?  This,  gentlemen  ;  that  nothing  can  give  us 
assurance  of  the  fact,  that  what  we  consider  good  is 
really  good,  or  that  what  we  consider  bad  is  really  bad, 
or  that  what  we  consider  obligatory  is  really  obligatory, 
or  that  really  forbidden  which  we  think  forbidden.  No 
consequence  could  follow  more  immediately  or  evi- 
dently from  a  principle.  Skepticism  destroys  at  once, 
therefore,  all  morality  and  all  right.  For  a  skeptic, 
moral  truth  exists  no  more  than  mathematical  or  phys- 
ical truth;  all  truth  vanishes  at  once,  if  every  means 
of  distinguishing  it  from  error  is  proved  to  be  of  no 
avail. 

But,  admitting  the  consequence  to  be  just,  one  thing 
yet  remains  for  the  skeptic  to  explain;  and  that  is, 
the  existence  of  those  ideas  of  good  and  evil,  of  jus- 
tice and  injustice,  which  are  found  in  human  minds. 
And  skeptics  have  explained  the  existence  of  these 


SYSTEM    OF    SKEPTICISM.  219 

ideas  in  a  variety  of  ways  which  do  not  contradict  their 
system. 

Skeptics,  in  ancient  times,  considered  all  such  ideas 
as  the  invention  of  legislators,  intended  to  sustain  the 
weakness  of  the  laws  which  they  enacted,  and  to  re- 
strain those  who  had  no  fear  of  threatened  penalties. 
The  greatest  skeptic  of  modern  times,  Hume,  asserts 
that  they  are  the  result  of  an  inward  sense,  which, 
brought  into  relation  with  human  actions,  is  agreeably 
affected  by  some,  and  disagreeably  by  others,  as  taste 
or  smell  is  by  flavors  and  scents.  It  is  on  account  of 
these  agreeable  or  disagreeable  impressions  that  we 
apply  to  actions  the  qualities  of  good  or  bad,  and  love 
the  one  while  we  dislike  the  other,  and  prefer  the 
former  to  the  latter.  It  is  evident  that  this  explana- 
tion does  no  more  to  establish  moral  obligation  than 
that  of  antiquity  did,  and  that  it  is  equally  in  har- 
mony with  all  the  consequences  of  skepticism.  There 
was  not  a  skeptic  of  ancient  times  who  failed  to  draw 
from  the  system  such  moral  consequences  as  I  have 
described.  Archelaus,  the  sophists  Aristippus,  Arcesi- 
laus,  Pyrrho,  Carneades,  Sextus  Empiricus,  all  professed 
that  there  is  no  sure  distinction  between  good  and  evil ; 
that  good  and  evil  are  altogether  the  effects  of  legisla- 
tion ;  and  that  their  character  is  determined  by  the 
greatest  interest  of  the  legislator  and  of  society. 

This  consequence,  inevitable  as  it  is  in  the  view  of 
reason,  has,  then,  been  fully  admitted  in  all  time. 
And  more  than » one  skeptic  of  antiquity  appears  to 
have  united  practice  to  theory;  at  least,  there  are  some 
evidences  that  such  was  the  fact.  Incredible  stories, 
for  instance,  are  told  of  Pyrrho's  complete  indifference 


220  JOUFFROY. 

to  the  distinctions  between  good  and  evil ;  and  as  he 
extended  this  indifference  to  all  other  subjects,  it  was 
not  in  him  a  want  of  morality  so  much  as  a  logical 
adherence  to  his  principles.  In  other  skeptical  schools, 
morality  has  been  resolved  into  pleasure,  and  by  a  pro- 
cess quite  simple  and  natural.  For  although  there  is 
no  truth  or  error  for  the  skeptic,  there  are  yet  agreeable 
and  painful  sensations;  and  for  want  of  the  higher 
good,  which  he  has  lost  sight  of,  he  adopts  the  greatest 
gratification  that  sensibility  enables  him  to  enjoy. 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  221 


LECTURE    IX. 


REFUTATION  OF  SKEPTICISM 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  my  last  lecture,  I  had  two  objects  in  view ; 
first,  to  make  you  acquainted  with  the  foundation  on 
which  skepticism  is  based ;  and  secondly,  to  show  you 
that  this  system,  in  destroying  all  faith,  destroys,  also, 
moral  obligation,  the  very  foundation  of  ethics.  There 
remains  one  further  duty  to  fulfil ;  for  I  must  not  pass 
by  the  system  of  skepticism  without  pointing  out  its 
radical  errors.  The  refutation,  however,  must  be  as 
rapid  as  the  exposition.  It  might  be  developed  indefi-* 
nitely.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  examine,  separately,  the 
various  grounds  for  doubt  proposed  by  skeptics;  but 
will  limit  myself  to  the  statement  of  such  general  views 
as  may  be  used  in  their  refutation.  And  as  the  subject 
is  one  of  a  complex  and  subtile  nature,  I  beg  you  to 
give  me  your  strict  attention. 

I  have  told  you  that  skeptics  draw  their  arguments 
for  doubt  either  from  the  nature  of  human  knowledge, 
of  the  subject  which  knows,  or  of  the  object  known 
Every  skeptical  objection  may  be  ranged  under  one  of 
these  three  categories.  Of  the  three  classes  of  objec- 
tions, those  arising  from  the  nature  of  the  subject  are 


222  JOUFFROY. 

without  comparison  the  most  grave ;  indeed  they  are 
the  only  ones  which  are  truly  unanswerable ;  and  with 
these,  therefore,  I  will  begin. 

But,  in  order  that  the  nature,  weakness,  and  error  of 
these  objections  may  be  comprehended,  it  is  indispen- 
sable  that  you  should  have  a  clear  idea  of  the  part 
performed  by  intellect,  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge. 
Without  this  you  will  be  unable,  except  in  a  very 
imperfect  degree,  to  feel  the  force  of  the  objections  of 
the  skeptic,  or  of  such  explanations  as  I  shall  give.  1 
will  first,  therefore,  describe  in  a  few  words  the  process 
by  which  our  knowledge  is  acquired,  and  the  faculties 
employed,  and  will  hastily  lay  bare  the  mechanism  of 
the  wonderful  operations  from  which  human  knowledge 
results.  And  I  trust  that  my  exposition  will  be  intelli- 
gible and  clear. 

However  numerous  and  various  the  kinds  of  human 
knowledge  may  appear  to  be,  they  are  all  to  be  referred 
to  two  classes  of  notions,  the  one  elementary,  and 
communicated  immediately,  the  other  secondary,  and 
derived  from  the  first.  We  recognize,  also,  two  orders 
of  faculties ;  the  former  of  which  acquire  directly  a 
knowledge  of  the  reality,  and  form  those  notions  which 
I  call  elementary;  while  the  latter,  acting  upon  the 
elementary  notions  already  acquired,  deduce  from  them 
our  secondary  knowledge. 

Our  elementary  notions  are  all  derived  from  two 
sources  —  observation  and  reason. 

As  you  well  know,  gentlemen,  the  whole  of  real 
being  is  not  exhibited  to  us,  but  only  that  small  portion 
with  which  we  are  brought  directly  in  contact.  We 
have  a  faculty  fitted  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  this. 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  223 

It  is  the  faculty  of  observation ;  and  we  are  accustomed 
to  call  the  knowledge  obtained  from  it  empirical.  These 
notions  represent  only  what  we  have  observed;  that 
is,  only  a  portion,  and  a  very  small  portion,  of  what 
actually  is.  They  form  the  first  class  of  the  elementary 
notions  of  human  intelligence ;  and  I  shall  have  said  all 
that  it  is  necessary  you  should  bear  in  mind,  in  asking 
you  to  remember,  that  observation  can  be  applied  in 
two  different  directions  —  outwardly  by  the  senses, 
inwardly  by  consciousness;  so  that  all  the  knowledge 
which  we  can  obtain  through  observation  is  reduced  to 
that  perceived  out  of  ourselves  by  the  senses,  or  within 
ourselves  by  consciousness. 

But  these  are  not  the  only  sources  of  our  direct 
information  as  to  real  being.  Independently  of  obser- 
vation, we  have  another  faculty  that  communicates 
knowledge.  This  faculty  is  reason,  which  does  not, 
like  observation,  see  what  actually  is,  but  conceives, 
from  what  observation  has  communicated,  of  that  which 
must  and  cannot  but  be.  Hence  a  second  class  of 
elementary  notions,  called  indifferently  conceptions  oj 
the  reason,  rational  truths,  a  priori  principles,  whose 
characteristic  is,  that  they  express  something  which 
cannot  but  be,  which  consequently  is  in  harmony  with 
the  whole  of  real  being,  arid  represents  universal  no- 
tions; while,  on  the  other  hand,  empirical  notions 
represent  only  the  portion  of  real  being  subject  to 
observation,  correspond  and  refer  only  to  that  portion, 
and  never,  therefore,  go  beyond  a  certain  degree  of 
generality. 

Such  are  the  two  classes  of  our  elementary  notions. 
They  include  all  the  materials  of  human  knowledge. 


224  JOUFFROY. 

And  there  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  in  human  intelligence, 
any  elementary  notion  which  is  not  derived  either  from 
observation  of  what  actually  is,  by  the  senses  and  con- 
sciousness, or  from  the  conceptions  of  what  must  be, 
by  the  reason. 

And  here  an  important  remark  should  be  made  —  it 
is,  that  reason  never  rises  to  the  ideas  which  it  is  her 
function  to  introduce  into  human  knowledge,  unless 
the  communications  of  observation  first  supply  the 
occasion.  Thus,  to  give  an  example,  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  that  observation  should  meet  with  something 
which  has  just  begun  to  be,  in  the  portion  of  real 
being  open  to  its  view,  before  reason  can  attain  to  the 
absolute  idea  that  there  must  be  a  cause  for  whatever 
begins  to  exist.  It  is  only  after  unconsciously,  and  in  a 
thousand  particular  cases,  applying  this  universal  idea, 
which  is  secretly  contained  within  it,  that  reason  sud- 
denly disengages  it,  and  conceives  it  under  its  universal 
form.  We  say,  a  thousand  times,  when  observing  some- 
thing that  has  just  begun  to  exist,  "  This  has  a  cause," 
before  we  rise  to  the  conception  of  the  absolute  and  ne- 
cessary idea  implied  by  the  expression,  that  is  to  say,  to 
the  conception  of  the  principle  of  causality  in  itself; 
so  that,  although  these  universal  ideas  are  not  derived 
from  what  observation  gives  us,  yet,  nevertheless,  they 
do  not  arise  without  the  communications  of  observation. 
Observation  lends  her  aid,  therefore,  if  I  may  say  so, 
at  the  birth  of  the  universal  and  absolute  conceptions 
of  reason. 

On  the  other  hand,  reason  operates  in  every  acquisi- 
tion of  observation.  Whatever  the  element  of  real 
being  which  observation  meets  with,  whether  external 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  225 

or  internal,  there  is  always  superadded  to  the  simple 
notion  it  acquires,  a  supplementary  idea  from  the  rea- 
son. Thus,  when  observation  perceives  a  quality, 
intellect  could  not  form  the  judgment,  "  This  is  white, 
this  is  red,"  unless  beyond  the  mere  quality  reason 
conceived  of  something  to  which  observation  cannot 
attain,  namely,  substance.  Thus,  again,  when  observa- 
tion has  communicated  the  notions  of  any  two  facts, 
we  could  not  judge  that  they  were  successive  to  each 
other,  unless  reason  added  to  the  mere  notion  of  these 
two  facts  an  idea  of  something  more,  beyond  the  reach 
of  observation  ;  that  is,  of  duration,  which  alone  makes 
succession  possible,  arid  the  idea  of  which  is  conse- 
quently implied  in  that  of  succession.  Again,  when,  in 
view  of  any  object  we  pronounce  that  simplest  of  all 
judgments,  "  This  is"  it  is  because  reason  superadds 
to  the  simple  notion  of  the  object,  supplied  by  observa- 
tion, the  idea  that  observation  does  not  deceive  us, 
and  consequently  that  external  reality  is  conformed  to 
the  internal  idea  which  observation  has  communicated  ; 
so  that  we  may  say,  with  equal  truth,  that  observation 
is  the  occasion  of  every  conception  of  the  reason,  and 
yet  that  no  notion  of  observation  can  become  a  judg- 
ment, or  become  knowledge,  without  the  cooperation 
of  an  a  priori  element  which  reason  supplies.  But 
enough  of  this  cooperation  of  these  two  faculties  in  the 
acquisition  of  all  human  knowledge  ;  all  that  it  is  im- 
portant we  should  bear  in  mind  is,  that  our  elementary 
knowledge  is  derived  exclusively  from  these  two  sources. 
Thus,  then,  gentlemen,  are  obtained  the  materials  of 
all  our  ideas.  And  now  another  faculty  begins  to  act, 
which  works  up  these  materials,  and  deduces  from  them 


226  JOUFFROY. 

our  ulterior  knowledge.  This  faculty  is  reasoning;  and 
we  must  distinguish  between  reasoning  by  induction 
and  by  deduction ;  for  reasoning  has  two  modes  of 
proceeding. 

This  is  the  process  of  reasoning  by  induction  :  when 
several  particular  cases,  which  are  analogous,  have 
been  ascertained  by  observation,  and  stored  in  the 
memory,  reason  applies  to  this  series  of  analogous 
observations  the  a  priori  principle,  that  the  laws  of 
nature  are  constant ;  and,  at  once,  what  was  true 
through  observation  in  only  twenty,  thirty,  or  forty 
observed  cases,  becomes,  by  the  application  of  this 
principle,  a  general  law,  as  true  of  other  cases  not 
observed  as  of  those  which  observation  has  ascer- 
tained. From  the  results  of  observation,  and  solely  by 
the  application  to  these  results  of  a  conception  of  rea- 
son, the  mind  arrives  at  a  consequence  that  transcends 
them.  Such  is  the  method  of  reasoning  by  induction. 
Its  characteristic  is,  that  it  proceeds  from  certain 
results,  communicated  by  observation,  to  a  general 
principle  within  which  they  are  included. 

The  process  of  reasoning  by  deduction  is  as  follows  • 
a  truth  of  any  kind,  particular,  general,  or  universal, 
being  made  known,  reason  deduces  from  it  whatever 
other  truths  it  includes ;  sometimes  the  deduction  is 
complete,  in  which  case  reason  only  presents  the  whole 
truth  under  two  different  aspects ;  at  other  times  the 
deduction  is  imperfect,  and  then  reason  passes  from  the 
whole  to  a  part.  But  in  either  case,  if  we  compare 
together  the  results  of  our  reasoning  and  the  premises 
from  which  we  drew  them,  we  shall  always  find  that 
these  results,  and  a  part  or  the  whole  of  the  premises 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  227 

are  perfectly  equivalent.     This  is  the  special  character- 
istic of  deductive  reasoning. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  important  transformations 
to  which  intellect  subjects  the  primary  notions  imme- 
diately communicated  by  observation  and  reason. 
There  are  two  faculties  by  which  we  acquire  our  ele- 
mentary notions  —  observation  and  reason;  and  two 
modes  of  reasoning  by  which  these  elementary  notions 
are  converted  into  ultimate  notions  —  induction  and 
deduction. 

One  other  faculty  cooperates  in  the  formation  of 
human  knowledge.  It  is  the  faculty  that  preserves  and 
makes  durable  the  notions  acquired ;  I  mean  memory. 
Without  this  faculty,  human  knowledge  would  be 
forever  limited  to  the  present  moment.  Memory  treas- 
ures up  the  successive  results  of  observation,  and 
thence  comes  experience.  Memory  is  interwoven, 
indeed,  with  the  texture  of  all  reasoning ;  for  we  could 
never  arrive  at  a  conclusion,  without  remembering  at 
each  step  both  the  premises  from  which  we  set  out, 
and  the  intermediate  steps  already  taken.  Memory 
enters,  therefore,  as  a  necessary  auxiliary,  into  the 
formation  of  all  the  notions  derived  from  observation 
or  reasoning,  and  it  alone  preserves  these  notions. 
Not  so,  however,  with  ideas  supplied  by  reason.  In 
their  acquisition  memory  has  no  part,  because  they 
are  formed  spontaneously.  Neither  does  it  aid  in 
keeping  them,  for  this  is  not  needed.  As  reason 
acquires  these  ideas  because  it  is  impossible  not 
to  conceive  them,  this  necessity  continues  to  be 
felt,  and  reason  conceives  them  anew,  whenever  they 
are  required  in  the  process  of  obtaining  knowledge 


228  JOUFFROY. 

there  is  no  need  of  the  employment  of  memory,  there- 
fore, to  preserve  them.  Reason  alone,  of  all  our  fac- 
ulties, is  independent  of  memory,  and  demands  not 
her  aid. 

Such,  omitting  innumerable  details,  are  the  pos- 
itive results,  to  which  long  study  of  the  origin  and 
formation  of  knowledge  has  led  me.  Such,  in  my 
view,  is  the  whole  process  of  intellectual  creations  ; 
and  it  is,  as  you  see,  most  simple. 

Thus  much  having  been  explained,  we  are  now  in  a 
situation  to  examine  the  grounds  upon  which  the  truth 
of  human  knowledge,  thus  acquired,  is  questioned,  and 
those  upon  which  it  may  securely  rest.  We  are  ac- 
quainted with  the  materials  of  this  knowledge,  and  the 
mode  in  which  its  various  elements  are  formed.  We 
shall  be  able  to  see,  therefore,  the  exact  tendency  and 
real  force  of  objections  urged  against  it. 

And  in  the  first  place,  gentlemen,  when  any  one  of 
the  four  faculties,  which  cooperate  in  the  formation  of 
our  knowledge  is  brought  into  action,  and  communi- 
cates any  notion,  such  as  it  is  fitted  to  introduce,  it  is 
evident  enough  that  we  neither  should  nor  could 
believe  in  the  truth  of  this  notion,  except  upon  one 
condition  —  that  we  have  faith  in  the  natural  veracity 
of  this  faculty,  that  is  to  say,  in  its  ability  to  see  things 
as  they  are ;  for  if  we  have  any  doubt  of  this,  it  -is 
evidently  impossible  that  there  should  be  any  truth  or 
belief  at  all  for  us.  And  yet  there  is  not,  and  cannot 
be,  any  proof  of  this  natural  veracity  of  our  faculties. 
When  reason  says,  "  This  must  be,  of  necessity," 
what  proof  have  we  that  in  reality  it  is  so  ?  We 
have  absolutely  none.  When  memory  has  a  clear, 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM 

precise,  undoubting  recollection  of  having  seen  such  a 
person  in  such  a  place,  what  proof  have  we  that  it 
represents  the  past  as  it  really  was  ?  None,  none  what- 
ever. When  observation,  directed  attentively  and 
steadily  upon  any  object,  says,  "  Here  is  something 
which  is  not  round,  but  square,  which  is  not  white,  but 
red,  which  has  such  or  such  a  quality,  and  not  some 
other  one,"  what  proves  that  our  senses  do  not  give 
representations  different  from  the  objects  ?  Again  I 
say,  we  have  no  proof.  To  torment  ourselves  in  seek- 
ing to  prove  that  the  faculties  through  which  we 
receive  our  notions  are  not  so  constituted  as  to  give 
false,  but  true  representations,  is  to  torment  ourselves 
most  foolishly.  For  it  is  unquestionable,  that  any 
proof  of  this,  such  as  can  be  imagined,  must  be  the 
work  of  these  very  faculties,  and  consequently  must  be 
proved  itself. 

Thus,  then,  it  appears  that  the  principle  of  all  cer- 
tainty, and  of  all  belief,  must  be,  in  the  first  instance, 
an  act  of  blind  faith  in  the  natural  veracity  of  our  fac- 
ulties. When  a  skeptic,  therefore,  says  to  a  dogmatist, 
"  You  have  no  proof  that  your  faculties  see  things  as 
they  are,  no  proof  that  God  has  not  so  constituted 
them  as  to  deceive  you,"  he  says  what  is  incontroverti- 
ble and  undeniable.  Such  is  the  necessary  condition 
of  all  faith.  But  let  us  for  the  moment  put  by  this 
first  general  argument  of  skepticism,  to  which  we  will 
directly  return,  and  let  us  see  whether,  as  the  skeptic 
pretends,  it  is  still  impossible  to  believe,  even  when  we 
do  not  consider  this  chief  ground  of  doubt.  The 
skeptic  asserts,  as  you  will  remember,  that,  even  admit- 
ting that  our  faculties  are  so  constituted  as  to  see 
VOL.  i.  u 


230 


JOUFFROY. 


things  as  they  are,  it  is  yet  plain  that  there  can  be 
no  confidence  reposed  in  the  information  given  by 
them,  because  each  separate  faculty  is  liable  to  be 
deceived,  and  there  is  no  sure  mode  by  which  we 
can  separate  the  truth  from  the  error  in  its  testimony. 

We  need  not  review  the  arguments  by  which  the 
skeptic  attempts  to  establish  this  point ;  for  they  were 
considered  at  sufficient  length  in  the  preceding  lecture 
Let  us  now  proceed  to  try  the  validity  of  these  argu- 
ments. Have  they  really  any  force  ?  I  think  not. 

The  reasoning  of  the  skeptic  suggests  at  once  this 
consideration,  that,  since  all  men  acknowledge  that 
their  various  faculties  sometimes  do  deceive  them, 
a  means  of  distinguishing  the  cases  in  which  they 
do  and  in  which  they  do  not  is  needed ;  that  is  to 
say,  each  faculty  must  have  its  own  criterion  of  truth, 
and  we  must  be  acquainted  with  this  criterion.  For, 
I  repeat  it,  if  there  are  no  certain  signs  by  means 
of  which  we  can  determine  that  our  faculties  do  not 
deceive  us,  then  neither  can  we  know  that  they  ever 
do  deceive  us,  or  even  that  they  can  deceive  us. 

But  is  that  which  is  apparently  true,  really  so  ? 
Is  there  any  criterion  in  fact  ?  I  answer,  yes, 
undoubtedly  there  is,  for  every  man  in  his  sound 
senses.  There  may  be,  and  probably  are,  among  my 
hearers,  many  who  have  never  studied  the  rules  for 
the  direction  of  our  faculties  prescribed  by  logic ; 
but,  I  ask,  does  such  a  one,  supposing  that  he  is 
anxious  and  interested  to  gain  certain  information, 
doubt  at  all  whether  he  is  capable  of  seeing  external 
objects  as  they  really  are  1  And  yet,  who  now  will 
be  bold  enough  to  deny,  that,  in  very  many  cases, 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  #31 

these  very  senses,  by  which  we  feel  so  sure  of  arriving 
at  an  accurate  knowledge  of  external  objects,  do, 
in  fact,  lead  .  us  into  error  ?  Every  one  present 
believes,  at  this  moment,  both  that  his  senses  have 
often  deceived  him,  and  yet  that  they  never  would 
deceive  him,  if  he  took  the  proper  precautions.  We 
all,  in  fact,  then,  already  do  know,  or,  in  times  of 
need,  do  instinctively  discover,  these  proper  pre- 
cautions ;  and  this  is  saying,  in  other  words,  that 
we  all  have  a  criterion,  by  means  of  which  we  do 
distinguish  the  testimonies  of  our  senses  which  merit 
confidence,  from  those  which  do  not. 

What  I  have  here  said  of  the  senses  may  be  said 
with  equal  truth  of  all  our  intellectual  faculties. 
No  one  present  doubts  his  capacity  to  discover  the 
true  consequences  of  any  principle,  when  he  is 
interested  in  so  doing,  and  bestows  upon  it  the 
proper  attention  and  care.  And  yet,  we  all  know 
that  we  can  and  do  deceive  ourselves  in  our  processes 
of  reasoning,  though,  at  the  same  time,  we  believe 
that  there  are  means  by  which  we  might  avoid  errors 
in  reasoning.  We  all  admit,  therefore,  that  there 
is  a  criterion,  by  which  we  can  separate  truth  from 
error  in  our  reasonings. 

o 

And  thus  it  is  with  all  the  faculties  which  cooperate 
in  the  production  of  our  knowledge.  All  are  able 
to  distinguish  between  cases  in  which  a  faculty  has 
been  properly  exercised,  —  and  when,  therefore,  we 
may  feel  confidence  in  the  results  to  which  it  leads 
us,  —  and  those  in  which  it  has  been  improperly 
exercised,  —  when  we  can  feel  none,  and  when  it 
is  unreasonable  to  trust  it. 


232  JOUFFROY. 

And  a  yet  further  proof  that  we  do  actually  possess 
such  a  criterion,  is  the  fact,  that  we  are  applying 
it  every  moment.  When,  for  instance,  we  see  any 
object  at  a  great  distance,  do  we  feel  entire  con- 
fidence in  the  impression  received  through  the  eye? 
We  do  not,  and  for  this  reason  —  that  we  have  learned 
from  experience  that  the  eye  distinguishes  imperfectly, 
at  a  distance,  both  the  form  and  the  color  of  objects ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  we  know  the  means  of  satisfying 
ourselves  whether  the  notion  we  have  received  is 
correct  or  not ;  we  remove  the  opportunity  for  error 
by  lessening  the  distance  between  our  eye  and  the 
object.  Analogous  examples  might  be  cited  with 
regard  to  every  faculty. 

The  cause  of  our  faculties  deceiving  us  is  not 
the  want  of  a  criterion  to  distinguish  the  proper 
from  the  improper  exercise  of  them,  but  carelessness 
or  haste  in  not  using  or  in  misusing  this  criterion. 
We  have  a  confused  view  of  it,  and  do  not  use  all 
proper  precautions  for  arriving  at  the  exact  truth, 
except  when  we  have  great  interests  at  stake.  Philoso- 
phers have  therefore  spared  no  pains  to  describe 
precisely  every  criterion,  which  common  sense  sees 
indistinctly;  and  it  is  in  this  chiefly  that  the 
great  discoveries,  which  have  been  made  in  logic, 
consist.  The  labors  of  Aristotle  in  this  branch  of 
philosophy  all  tended  to  the  one  point  of  determining 
the  true  criterion  of  reasoning  by  deduction  ;  that  is, 
the  distinguishing  sign  of  legitimate  consequences. 
And  what  is  this  1  It  is  that  the  consequence  is 
one  actually  included  in  the  premises.  This  result 
may  seem  very  simple,  and  even  trivial ;  but  it  was 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  233 

only  by  a  most  laborious  analysis  of  all  forms  and 
possible  processes  of  reasoning,  that  this  great  man 
arrived  at  it.  And  again,  what  did  Bacon  accomplish 
in  logic  ?  He  determined  the  true  criterion  of  reason- 
ing by  induction,  and  this  was  all ;  though  it  cannot 
be  said  of  him,  as  of  Aristotle,  that  he  left  nothing 
to  be  completed  by  his  successors ;  for,  without 
question,  the  application  of  the  inductive  method, 
in  the  researches  of  two  centuries,  has  wonderfully 
perfected  Bacon's  incomplete  idea  of  the  conditions 
necessary  for  the  proper  mode  of  proceeding  in 
inductive  reasoning.  These  two  famous  logicians 
derive  their  distinction,  then,  from  the  fact,  that 
the  one  discovered  the  criterion  for  reasoning  by 
deduction,  and  the  other  the  criterion  for  reasoning 
by  induction  ;  and  yet  they  did  no  more  than  make 
clear  two  indistinct  ideas,  which  had  always  before 
existed  in  the  common  sense  of  men.  The  criterion 
of  sensible  perception  and  that  of  memory  have  also 
occupied  philosophers.  You  are  acquainted  with  the 
noble  efforts  of  Malebranche,  of  Locke,  and  of  the 
Scottish  philosophers,  to  determine  the  laws  of  memory 
and  of  the  association  of  ideas;  and  you  cannot  be 
ignorant  of  the  care  and  sagacity  with  which  so 
many  philosophers  have  analyzed  and  determined  the 
sources  of  error  to  which  all  our  senses  are  exposed. 
Now,  to  what  end  have  all  these  efforts  tended,  if  not 
to  the  establishment  of  the  precise  conditions  needed, 
in  order  that  memory  and  the  senses  may  communicate 
notions  worthy  of  credit?  Unquestionably,  this  end 
has,  in  a  great  measure,  been  attained  ;  and,  in  regard 
to  these  two  faculties,  it  may  be  truly  said,  that 


234  JOUFFROY. 

logical  science  is  very  nearly  perfect.  And  yet  the 
only  discovery  made  by  logic,  in  relation  to  them, 
is  a  knowledge  of  those  various  means  for  correcting 
memory  and  sensation,  which  men  naturally  employ 
in  all  cases  where  they  are  deeply  interested.  So 
that  philosophy  has  done  no  more  in  this  matter 
than  simply  to  make  clear  the  notions  which  had 
always  existed,  though  obscure,  in  common  human 
intelligence. 

So  far,  then,  from  its  being  true,  as  skeptics  assert, 
that  human  intelligence,  subject  as  its  faculties  are 
to  error,  has  no  means  of  distinguishing  truth  from 
error  in  the  multitude  of  its  impressions,  —  so  far 
is  this  from  being  true,  that  we  have  proved  that 
there  are  such  means  for  correcting  every  faculty. 
We  have  proved  it  by  showing,  first,  that  all  men 
know  that  their  faculties  do  sometimes  deceive  them ; 
secondly,  that  all  men,  when  greatly  interested,  really 
discover  and  use  proper  precautions  for  arriving  at 
true  and  certain  results  in  the  use  of  each  and  every 
faculty;  and,  thirdly,  that  the  most  distinguished  lo- 
gicians have  actually  determined  the  precise  conditions 
required  for  such  certainty. 

You  will  have  remarked  that,  among  the  examples 
adduced  to  illustrate  the  point  which  we  have  been 
considering,  I  have  not  drawn  any  from  reason.  My 
motive  was,  simply,  that  reason  is  not  liable  to  be 
deceived ;  alone,  of  all  our  faculties,  reason  possesses 
this  prerogative,  and  it  is  owing  to  its  peculiarity 
of  acting  from  necessity.  Necessity  cannot  admit 
of  the  distinctions  of  more  or  less;  and,  provided 
only  that  it  is  constantly  the  same  in  all  men,  it 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  235 

must  produce  similar  effects  in  each  individual,  under 
similar  circumstances.  And  to  this  it  is  owing,  that 
the  ideas  of  reason  appear  exactly  the  same,  in  number 
and  in  kind,  in  the  minds  of  all  human  beings,  and 
remain,  through  all  changes,  immutable. 

Hence  it  is,  gentlemen,  that  the  objection  has  never 
been  brought  against  reason,  that  it  is  different  in 
different  men,  or  in  the  same  individual  at  different 
times  :  there  is  no  such  ground  as  this  for  rejecting 
its  conceptions.  On  the  contrary,  the  great  argument 
of  the  skeptic  against  reason  is  drawn  from  the  ne- 
cessity and  immutability  of  its  judgments.  "  See," 
they  say,  "  reason  admits  this  or  that,  because  it 
cannot  but  admit  it;  its  motive  for  believing  any 
thing  is,  that  it  is  impossible  to  disbelieve  it.  Is  not 
this  a  sufficient  proof  that  its  belief  is  imposed  upon 
it  by  its  nature,  and  that,  had  that  nature  been 
different,  the  belief  would  have  been  different  also?" 
This,  you  will  observe,  is  Kant's  great  argument : 
according  to  him,  the  conceptions  of  reason  have 
only  a  subjective  value,  because  they  are  necessary, 
and  thus  might  change,  if  the  subject  itself  was 
changed.  This  argument,  however,  is  plainly  the 
same  with  that  which  questions  the  veracity  of  our 
faculties  ;  and,  therefore,  we  pass  it  by  for  the  present. 

Since  the  variableness  of  its  conceptions  cannot 
be  brought  against  reason,  skepticism  finds  objections 
in  the  variableness  of  philosophical  views  of  these 
conceptions,  and  has  arrayed  against  its  authority 
a  twofold  argument,  drawn,  first,  from  the  systems 
which  have  denied  or  disfigured  these  conceptions;, 
and,  secondly,  from  the  disagreements  among  them- 


236 


JOUFPROY. 


selves  of  the  philosophers  who  have  attempted  to 
classify  them. 

It  is  entirely  true,  gentlemen,  that  some  philosophers 
have  rejected  one  or  more  of  the  principles  of  human 
reason,  —  as,  for  instance,  Hume,  who  has  denied, 
as  I  have  shown  you,  the  principle  of  causality,  and 
Condillac,  who  has  denied  that  of  substance,  and 
many  others  who  might  be  added.  But,  you  will 
remember,  J  have  proved  that  Hume  and  Condillac 
could  not  but  come  to  these  conclusions,  if  they  were 
consistent  with  their  own  systems.  The  objection, 
then,  is  without  force.  It  is  easy  to  bring  forward* 
philosophers,  who  have  denied,  in  their  writings,  some 
one  or  other  principle  of  reason  ;  but  not  one  could 
be  found,  who  has  not,  at  the  same  time,  constantly 
proved,  by  his  conduct,  that  he  believed  in  them 
quite  as  much  as  other  men. 

The  objection  drawn  from  the  disagreement  among 
philosophers,  in  their  attempts  to  classify  these  prin- 
ciples, is  equally  weak.  These  principles  are  facts  — 
the  facts  of  human  nature  —  and,  of  course,  the 
observation  of  them  is  as  liable  to  error  as  that 
of  any  other  class  of  facts.  Some  of  the  philosophers 
who  have  studied  them  have  seen  more  of  these  facts, 
others  fewer  —  some  more,  others  less  correctly ; 
hence  the  diversity  of  results.  The  diversity  will 
lessen  and  disappear  in  proportion  as  observations 
are  multiplied  and  made  more  exact;  and,  again, 
this  diversity  is  more  often  apparent  than  real,  and 
arises  chiefly  from  the  different  forms  under  which 
the  same  identical  principles  have  been  described. 
But,  however  this  may  be,  these  diversities  evidently 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  237 

affect  only  the  science  of  these  principles,  and  not 
the  principles  themselves,  which  are  and  must  remain 
identically  the  same  for  all  minds.  Where  is  the 
man,  who,  when  he  sees  any  thing  happen,  does  not 
instantly  suppose  that  there  was  a  cause  for  it ;  or, 
where  he  perceives  a  quality,  does  not  conceive  of  a 
substance ;  or  who  does  not  assign  to  every  object  a 
place,  and  to  every  event  a  time  ?  These  notions  are 
so  essential  to  human  nature,  that  not  even  madness 
can  destroy  or  change  them.  The  insane  man  has 
this  in  common  with  all  mankind,  that  he  still  believes 
in  these  notions  ;  and,  in  this  respect,  still  remains 
a  man,  even  when  he  has  ceased  to  be  so  in  all 
others. 

Thus  much,  gentlemen,  I  have  thought  it  necessary 
to  say  of  the  general  objection  of  skepticism,  deduced 
from  the  variableness  of  the  faculties  of  intelligence 
As  this  charge  cannot  be  brought  against  reason, 
which  is  immutable,  it  can  extend  only  to  observation, 
reasoning,  and  memory  ;  and  I  have  shown,  even  if 
it  is  true  that  these  are  fallible,  that  we  are  still 
capable  of  distinguishing  truth  from  error,  in  their 
communications.  This  objection  against  the  certainty 
of  human  knowledge  is  thus  shown  to  be  without 
force ;  and  it  is  proved,  therefore,  that  we  can  arrive 
at  truth,  if  our  faculties  are  only  so  organized  as  to 
see  things  as  they  really  are,  and  not  to  transmit  to 
us  false  images.  Let  us,  then,  return  to  the  con- 
sideration of  this  last  objection ;  and,  having  thus 
driven  skepticism  behind  its  last  intrenchment,  let 
us  try  its  strength. 

I   hasten    to   say,    then,    that    I   know    no   positive 


233  JOUFFROY. 

answer  to  this  objection  of  the  skeptic :  there  can  be 
no  proof  possible  of  the  veracity  of  our  intelligence. 
And  yet  this  objection  is  a  remarkable  one,  and  de- 
serves consideration. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  you  will  please  to  observe, 
that  they  even  who  are  most  swayed  by  this  objec- 
tion, pay  no  regard  to  it  in  practice.  A  philosopher 
may  very  well  conceive  that  there  is  no  proof  that 
God  has  not  so  constituted  his  intelligence,  as  to  see, 
instead  of  the  reality,  something  quite  different  from 
it;  and  yet,  whenever  an  object  is  presented  to  his 
eyes,  he  will  believe  in  the  fidelity  of  the  impression 
received  through  them ;  or,  if  his  memory  suggests 
that  he  has  promised  to  dine  with  a  friend,  he  will 
go ;  or,  if  a  threatening  sound  strikes  his  ear,  he  will 
avoid  the  danger.  There  never  was  a  skeptic  who 
escaped  such  inconsistencies,  or  who  did  not  fall  into 
them  a  thousand  times  each  day  ;  and,  however  strong 
his  reasons  for  doubt,  he  will  yet  believe  as  firmly  as 
the  most  determined  dogmatist. 

In  the  next  place,  please  to  consider  whether  there 
is  any  way  in  which  an  intelligent  being  could  be 
organized  so  as  to  avoid  this  objection.  If  this  being 
is  to  be  intelligent,  he  must,  of  course,  be  capable 
of  knowledge  ;  and,  that  he  may  be  capable  of  it, 
he  must  have  faculties  fitted  to  acquire  knowledge. 
An  intelligent  being  could  be  organized  in  no  other 
way.  Now,  being  rational,  he  will  remark  that  he 
has  faculties,  and  that  these  faculties  form  part  of 
one  individual  organization,  and  that  they  are  them- 
selves individual  ;  and,  at  once,  this  very  objection 
of  the  skeptic  arises,  that,  if  they  had  been  differently 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  239 

constituted  they  might  have  given  him  very  different 
notions  of  things.  Indeed,  so  inherent  is  the  possibility 
of  such  an  objection,  in  the  very  nature  of  an  intelli- 
gent being,  that  we  cannot  admit  the  thought  that  even 
the  Deity  himself  is  secure  from  it,  except  when  we  re- 
flect that  we  can  form  no  adequate  idea  of  his  nature ; 
for,  if  we  take  the  highest  idea  we  can  form,  and  repre- 
sent to  ourselves  the  Deity  as  an  intelligent  being,  who 
acquires  knowledge  by  the  use  of  a  faculty  for  know- 
ing, we  cannot,  by  any  possibility,  escape  from  the 
conclusion  that  he  might  experience  this  very  doubt, 
urged  by  the  skeptic  against  our  faculties.  Such 
observations  may  suffice  to  show,  that,  even  if  this 
objection  cannot  be  refuted,  it  yet  does  not  merit  the 
serious  consideration  of  a  philosopher.  We  can 
know  nothing,  and  can  learn  nothing,  except  by  using 
the  intelligent  faculties  with  which  we  are  endowed  ; 
the  first  truth,  which  any  man  who  would  learn  and 
know,  must  recognize,  is,  that  his  faculties  see  things 
as  they  really  are ;  for,  otherwise,  he  must  renounce 
all  learning  and  knowledge ;  science  becomes  impos- 
sible, and  research  vain. 

This  is  the  only  answer  that  can  be  made  to  the 
one  irrefutable  argument  of  skepticism. 

As  to  the  causes  of  error  which  are  derived  from 
the  imagination,  the  passions,  education,  and  preju- 
dice, and  from  the  desires  and  propensities  of  the 
body,  they  are  all  well  known,  and  such  as  every  man 
is  aware  he  must  guard  against.  The  precautions, 
which  must  be  taken  in  order  that  our  faculties  rriay 
be  preserved  from  their  influence,  are  recognized  uni- 
versally as  conditions  for  the  legitimate  exercise  of 


240  JOUFFROY. 

our  faculties,  and,  consequently,  for  the  legitimacy 
of  the  knowledge  acquired  by  them. 

Independently,  however,  of  these  causes,  which  tend 
to  disturb  the  regular  exercise  of  our  intelligence,  it 
is  said  that  the  intelligent  subject  itself  is  variable ; 
that  it  is  modified  by  age,  and  changes  from  year  to 
year,  and  from  day  to  day ;  and  that  it  is  not  from 
one  moment  to  another  the  same.  I  reply,  that  we 
must  make  a  distinction  here.  It  is  true,  that  our 
body,  like  all  bodies  whatever,  does  undergo  perpetual 
alterations,  and  does  each  moment  receive  or  lose 
something,  and  is  not  identically  the  same  for  two 
successive  moments.  Still  the  properties  of  its  differ- 
ent organs  remain  the  same,  amidst  this  continual  flux 
of  the  particles  of  which  its  substance  is  composed. 
But  it  is  not  the  body  that  has  the  capacity  of  knowing, 
but  the  mind,  or  that  which  we  call  ourselves,  our 
me.  Now  the  me  declares  itself  identically  the  same 
at  every  moment  of  existence ;  and,  if  any  one  should 
be  inclined  to  deny  this  identity,  he  would  immediately 
be  conducted  to  such  absurd  consequences  as  must 
convince  him  that  all  the  facts  of  human  nature 
imply  this  absolute  identity,  and  are  inexplicable  with- 
out it. 

It  is  true,  these  very  variations  of  our  body  exert 
an  important  influence  upon  the  mind ;  but,  then, 
they  are  classed  among  the  causes  of  error,  and  every 
sensible  man  takes  heed  of  them  when  he  would 
acquire  accurate  knowledge.  The  young  man  is 
aware  that  his  age  is  liable  to  passions  which  may 
mislead  his  judgment,  and  which  incline  him  to  a 
precipitancy  and  a  self-confidence  unfavorable  to  the 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  241 

pursuit  for  truth ;  and  we,  on  our  part,  in  consulting 
the  judgment  of  youth,  take  into  consideration  these 
sources  of  error,  and  estimate  their  influence. 

I  have  now  done  with  the  skeptical  objections  de- 
duced from  the  nature  of  the  subject  of  knowledge ; 
and  I  hasten  to  those  which  originate  in  the  nature 
of  the  object  of  knowledge,  and  of  knowledge  itself. 

I  have  but  a  word  to  say  of  the  former.  It  is  un- 
questionably true,  that  every  external  object  is  con- 
stantly varying.  But,  observe,  it  is  not  what  is  variable 
that  interests  us,  or  that  is  the  object  of  science.  It 
is  the  substance  of  beings  which  changes ;  but  science 
seeks  to  become  acquainted  rather  with  their  specific 
nature,  which  is  permanent,  and  remains  unchanged 
in  all  essential  characteristics. 

This  is  not  saying  that  the  nature  of  beings  is 
incapable  of  change;  but  the  change  is  a  regular 
one.  This  change,  in  other  words,  is  subject  to  laws, 
and  it  is  these  laws  which  science  seeks  to  learn. 
This  is  true,  not  only  of  single  beings,  but  of  the 
whole  creation ;  it  remains  the  same,  notwithstanding 
the  eternal  movement  that  agitates,  and  alters,  and 
modifies,  incessantly,  all  its  parts  —  a  movement  regu- 
lar, and  subject  to  fixed  and  immutable  laws.  And 
it  is  this  immutable  form  of  the  universe,  and  the 
immutable  laws  of  life  animating  it,  which  science 
seeks  to  determine  and  know :  these  never  change. 
Science  is  not  interested  in  the  unceasing  flux  of 
phenomena,  forever  passing  throughout  creation;  for 
this  is  transient,  and  the  transient  is  indifferent  to 
her.  Thus,  even  if  the  skeptic's  objection  is  founded 
in  truth,  it  still  does  not  affect  science,  because  it  does 
VOL.  T.  v 


2    2  JOUFiROY. 

not  extend  to  that  which  is  really  the  object  of  science 
And  this'  is  enough  to  show  you  the  weakness  of  all 
skeptical  arguments  drawn  from  this  main  one. 

Of  objections  brought  against  knowledge  itself,  the 
first  consists  in  saying  that  the  idea  which  knowledge 
gives  us  of  the  reality  must  be  unworthy  of  confi- 
dence, because,  when  compared  with  its  object,  our 
knowledge  is  so  very  incomplete. 

To  this  I  reply,  if  it  is  true  that  our  faculties,  when 
legitimately  and  rightly  used,  do  see  things  as  they 
really  are,  it  is,  then,  also  true,  that  the  knowledge 
communicated  by  them,  is  a  faithful  representation  of 
whatever  portion  of  real  being  they  observe ;  and,  there- 
fore, the  only  charge  which  can  be  brought  against 
our  knowledge,  is  its  incompleteness.  If,  indeed,  we 
then  proceed  to  draw  from  this  fragment,  of  which  we 
have  acquired  knowledge,  rash  inductions  as  to  the 
whole  of  real  being,  we  may  easily  fall  into  error; 
but  the  knowledge  of  the  portion  observed  by  our 
faculties  will  remain  as  true  as  before  ;  and  this  only 
can  be  said,  that  we  have  reasoned  badly,  and  drawn 
from  certain  premises  conclusions  which  they  did 
not  contain.  But  it  does  not  follow  that  we  are  in- 
capable of  reasoning  correctly,  because  we  can  and 
do  sometimes  reason  incorrectly.  If  we  draw  from 
the  minute  portion  of  real  being  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted with,  rigorous  inductions  only  as  to  the 
whole,  the  notions  arrived  at  will  be  exact.  True,  these 
notions  will  still  remain  incomplete  ;  but  the  dogmatist 
nowise  pretends  that  human  knowledge  is  complete; 
he  asserts  only  that  it  is  faithful  and  trustworthy. 

The  second   reason  for  doubt,  found  by  the  skeptic 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  243 

in  the  nature  of  knowledge  itself,  is  drawn  from  the 
consideration  that  human  opinions  are  so  different  in 
different  eras,  places,  nations,  individuals.  To  give 
a  thorough  refutation  of  this  objection  would  be  an 
endless  task.  I  must  limit  myself  to  a  few  rapid 
observations. 

I  remark,  in  the  first  place,  that  this  diversity  of 
opinion  is  far  from  extending  to  all  subjects.  If  any 
one  would  undertake  to  draw  up  a  counterpart  to  the 
picture  presented  by  the  skeptic,  I  am  perfectly  sure 
that  the  catalogue  of  opinions,  held  in  common  by 
all  mankind,  would  form  a  far  more  large  and  valuable 
volume  than  the  lists  so  often  begun  by  skeptics  of  opin- 
ions upon  which  men  differ.  What  would  have  become 
of  the  human  race,  indeed,  if,  upon  points  where  it  is 
important  to  have  certain  knowledge,  opinions  had 
been  forever  undetermined  as  to  what  is  true  or  false. 
The  truth  is,  human  opinion  has  never  hesitated  nor  al- 
tered in  relation  to  those  facts  of  the  external  world,  or 
of  human  nature,  and  of  their  respective  laws,  which  it 
is  most  important  we  should  know.  Do  you  ask  why  ? 
Because  the  human  race  could  have  continued  in 
existence  on  no  other  condition.  And  do  you  know 
that  this  part  of  human  knowledge,  representing  the 
notions  held  in  common  by  all  mankind,  of  all  and 
every  age,  is  so  very  large,  that  the  part  representing 
those  about  which  they  differ,  becomes,  in  comparison, 
imperceptible  1  Do  you  inquire,  now,  why  this  prin- 
cipal and  most  important  part  of  knowledge  is  so  little 
noticed,  and  why  it  plays  so  small  a  part  on  the  theatre 
of  philosophical  discussions  ?  It  is  because  it  is  so 
essential  to  man,  and  so  constantly  employed  by  him 


244  JOUFFROY. 

that  it  becomes  confounded  with  human  nature  itself; 
it  is  because  we  acquire  it  so  early,  and  because  we 
find  it  already  formed  and  established  in  us  when  we 
first  begin  to  reflect,  and  because,  therefore,  it  appears 
to  us  as  if  we  never  had  acquired  it.  It  is  that 
treasure,  stored  up  for  the  future  man,  by  the  incred- 
ible activity  of  the  young  mind,  in  those  first  years, 
which,  though  to  the  careless  observer  they  may  seern 
a  mere  dream,  are  really  the  most  fruitful  in  results 
of  any  in  existence — a  rare  treasure,  indeed,  gentle- 
men ;  for  it  is  with  these  ideas,  common  to  every 
individual,  that  men  understand  themselves  and  each 
other ;  they  constitute  us  men,  and  therefore  is  it 
that  we  do  not  notice  them.  The  ideas  which  attract 
our  attention  are  those  upon  which  we  differ.  And 
how  admirable  is  this  provision !  For  to  those  alone 
which  are  uncertain  need  we  direct  our  attention. 
Hence,  however,  comes  the  illusion,  which  leads  us 
to  consider  these  opinions  as  the  whole  of  human 
knowledge,  and  which  makes  us  believe,  in  conse- 
quence, that  knowledge  is  uncertain ;  and  this  illusion 
must  be  kept  distinctly  in  view,  if  we  would  estimate 
the  true  force  of  the  skeptical  argument. 

But  the  diversity  and  mutability  of  human  opinions, 
when  thus  limited,  by  no  means  lead  to  such  conse- 
quences as  skeptics  pretend.  They  are  to  be  explained 
by  causes  wholly  different  from  that  want  of  power  in 
the  intellect  to  see  the  truth,  which  the  skeptic  assigns 
as  the  reason. 

The  fallibility  of  intellect,  gentlemen,  is  one  cause. 
In  every  case  there  can  be  but  one  truth,  while  there 
may  be  numberless  errors.  It  is,  then,  possible  that 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  245 

we  may  be  deceived  in  a  thousand  ways  about  every 
thing;  and,  on  the  supposition  that  intellect  is  fallible, 
a  thousand  different  errors  —  that  is  to  say,  different 
opinions  —  are  possible;  but  does  it  follow,  from  this 
variety  of  opinions,  that  truth  cannot  be  discovered  ? 
or,  when  once  found,  that  it  cannot  be  separated 
from  the  errors  with  which  it  is  combined?  Not 
at  all ;  as  a  thousand  instances  testify.  How  many 
truths  have  been  discovered  and  recognized,  after 
countless  false  systems  had  been  proposed  and  refuted ! 
Who,  indeed,  would  ever  pursue  a  science  at  all, 
unless  his  studies  tended  to  this  result  ? 

The  laws  which  govern  the  acquisition  of  knowledge 
are  another  cause  of  the  variety  of  opinions  among 
men.  God  has  not  endowed  us  with  the  prerogative 
of  attaining  truth  at  once ;  we  reach  it  only  by  a 
gradual  progress,  and  successive  steps  —  only  by 
acquiring,  in  repeated  efforts,  its  several  elements. 
Human  knowledge  cannot  be,  and  should  not  be, 
immutable.  Each  new  discovery  augments,  and  con- 
sequently modifies,  science;  and  this  is  true  at  once 
of  every  department,  and  of  the  whole  of  knowledge. 
No  opinion,  no  truth,  then,  is  definitive,  for  it  is  not 
complete.  And,  since  nations  and  individuals  have 
advanced  to  different  stages  in  this  common  progress 
towards  truth,  the  diversity  and  mutability  of  human 
opinions  are  readily  explained.  Such  an  identity 
and  perpetuity  of  human  opinion,  as  is  demanded 
by  the  skeptic,  would  be  nothing  less  than  the  equality 
and  immutability  of  all  human  intelligence. 

In  addition,  it  may  be  said  that  there  is  one  tDther 
most  fruitful  source  of  illusion  in  this  matter ;  and 

V2 


246 


JOUFFROY. 


it  is,  that  the  variety  of  forms  in  which  ideas  are 
expressed  is  often  supposed  to  be  a  variety  in  the 
ideas  themselves.  Who  does  not  know  that  the 
same  religious  or  political  dogmas  are  often  found 
prevailing  under  forms  the  most  apparently  diverse  ? 
Who  does  not  know,  for  example,  how  various  are 
the  modes  by  which  the  grand  article  of  faith,  a 
belief  in  a  Deity,  has  been  professed,  in  different 
ages  and  countries?  Viewed  in  the  light  of  this 
remark,  this  phantom  of  diversity  in  human  opinion 
subsides  into  quite  moderate  dimensions. 

Indeed,  there  is  nothing  at  all  wonderful  in  this 
variety  of  human  opinions,  if  we  consider  the  con- 
ditions to  which  intelligence  is  subject,  and  the  laws 
of  the  formation,  progress,  and  development  of  knowl- 
edge. In  proportion  as  we  more  thoroughly  under- 
stand the  true  laws  of  our  faculties  can  we  better 
explain  the  progress  of  the  human  mind,  and  the 
various  errors  through  which  it  has  passed.  As  soon 
as  men  discovered  the  true  mode  of  proceeding  in  the 
investigation  of  physical  science,  it  was  at  once  seen 
most  clearly  why  antiquity  had  erred,  and  necessarily 
erred.  Hypothesis  preceded  observation  in  these 
pursuits,  and  various  hypotheses  were  successively 
proposed  and  adopted,  because  it  could  not  but  be 
that  such  hypotheses  should  seduce  the  mind  of  man, 
and  be  tried ;  and  the  hypothetical  method  finally 
gave  way  to  the  method  of  observation,  because  the 
proper  time  for  it  had  come.  The  change  of  human 
opinions  in  this  respect  was  the  necessary  consequence 
of  the  laws  of  the  human  mind,  and  not  a  sign  of  its 
incapacity  of  arriving  at  truth. 


REFUTATION    OF    SKEPTICISM.  ^47 

I  will  close  this  lecture,  already  too  much  pro- 
longed, with  one  more  observation  upon  the  system 
of  skepticism.  Is  there,  I  ask,  at  the  present  day, 
any  one,  who  refuses  to  believe  in  the  truths  which 
have  been  discovered  in  physical  and  mathematical 
science?  If  these  truths  are  not  doubtful,  if  they 
are  worthy  of  credit,  then  it  is  plain  that  the  faculties 
of  human  intelligence  are  capable  of  acquiring  truth. 
They  are  not  by  nature  deceptive,  therefore,  or  in- 
competent to  distinguish  truth  from  error.  If  the 
authority  of  these  faculties  is  acknowledged  in  one 
exercise  of  their  power,  then  must  it  be  acknowledged 
in  all ;  and,  if  denied  at  all,  in  any  case,  then  is 
all  faith  impossible.  In  other  words,  there  can  be 
no  half-skepticism,  nor  half-dogmatism.  He  who 
would  be  a  skeptic,  in  our  day,  must,  if  he  would 
be  consistent,  consider  mathematical  and  physical 
truths,  as  well  as  all  others,  chimerical.  Skepticism, 
which  once  occupied  so  prominent  a  position  in 
philosophy,  has  gradually  withdrawn  ;  and,  from  rest- 
ing on  those  arguments  so  much  used  by  antiquity, 
though  now  refuted,  it  finds  itself  driven,  in  modern 
times,  to  take  refuge  in  the  simple  metaphysical  doubt 
as  to  the  veracity  of  our  faculties  —  an  impregnable 
position,  it  is  true,  but  one  where  it  does  not  and 
cannot  exert  any  actual  influence  on  the  human 
mind. 


248  JOUFFROY. 


LECTURE    X. 

THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE 

» 

GENTLEMEN, 

WE  have  now  completed  the  discussion  of 
systems  which  destroy  the  basis  of  morality  by  reason- 
ings not  drawn  from  the  facts  of  human  nature,  and, 
according  to  my  original  plan,  I  propose  to  pass  next 
to  a  second  class  of  systems,  which  lead  to  the  same 
result  through  an  incomplete  and  false  analysis  of 
these  facts.  But,  after  what  has  been  said  in  the 
two  last  lectures  on  the  subject  of  skepticism,  I  have 
thought  it  might  be  useful  for  us  to  give  some  con- 
sideration to  what  may  be  called  the  skepticism  of  the 
present  age.  It  is  well  thus  to  characterize  it,  because, 
as  it  is  not  in  my  view  a  form  of  genuine  skepticism, 
this  distinctive  name  may  aid  us  in  acquiring  a  correct 
and  -precise  view  of  the  actual  moral  condition  of 
our  era. 

Skepticism,  gentlemen,  is  a  disposition  in  the  mind 
to  admit  nothing  as  worthy  of  belief;  a  disposition 
produced  by  such  a  view  of  our  means  for  acquiring 
truth  as  leads  to  the  conclusion  that  we  are  incom- 
petent to  attain  to  any  certain  knowledge.  Such 
is  skepticism,  strictly  defined ;  and  to  such  skepticism 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.    249 

I  will  give  the  name  of  absolute  skepticism,  to  distin- 
guish it  from  another  state  of  mind  also  called  skep- 
ticism, which  differs  from  it  entirely. 

The  state  of  mind  to  which  I  now  refer  may  be  seen 
in  any  person  who  is  without  a  faith  ;  and  yet  he  may 
be  wholly  wanting  in  the  characteristic  of  genuine 
skepticism,  a  determination  to  believe  nothing,  founded 
on  the  opinion  that  we  have  no  means  of  arriving  at 
certainty.  A  person  may  be  without  a  faith,  simply 
because  he  does  not  know  what  the  truth  is  upon  the 
great  questions  of  human  interest,  and  not  at  all  be- 
cause he  admits  in  principle  that  the  human  mind  is 
incapable  of  attaining  to  truth.  Let  us  call  this  state 
of  mind  actual  skepticism,  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
disposition  to  believe  nothing,  which  I  have  named 
absolute  skepticism. 

Keeping  in  mind  this  distinction,  we  shall  see  at 
once  that  the  mass  of  mankind  can  never  be  absolute 
skeptics.  They  have  not  the  information  and  leisure 
requisite  for  such  an  analysis  of  the  phenomena  of 
knowledge,  as  would  lead  to  the  conviction  that  the 
human  mind  is  incapable  of  arriving  at  truth.  The 
world  has  never  yet  seen,  and  for  ages  at  least  never 
will  see,  a  whole  people  penetrated  with  such  a  convic- 
tion, and  possessed  by  such  a  skepticism.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  actual  skepticism,  or  a  simple  want  of  faith 
from  mere  ignorance  of  the  truth  upon  important  ques- 
tions, may  very  easily  prevail  among  the  mass  of  a 
people ;  though  even  this,  the  only  kind  of  skepticism 
to  which  they  are  liable,  is  always  repugnant  to  them. 

Among  the  various  considerations  from  which  abso- 
lute  skepticism  arises,  there  is  but  one  that  can  to  any 


250  JOUFFROY. 

great  degree  be  felt  by  a  whole  nation,  and  thus  intro- 
duce into  it  the  germ  of  genuine  skepticism.  This 
consideration  is  the  contradictory  and  variable  nature 
of  human  opinions.  But  it  is  only  the  better  informed 
who  are  liable  to  be  impressed  even  by  this  ;  for  to  rise 
to  a  view  of  human  opinion  as  contradictory  and  varia- 
ble, must  require  such  a  degree  of  historical  knowledge 
as  can  be  possessed  only  by  the  more  enlightened.  The 
people,  properly  so  called,  are  not  competent  to  this. 
I  add,  now,  that  this  truly  skeptical  view,  the  only  one, 
as  I  have  said,  which  can  penetrate  the  heart  of  a  peo- 
ple, is  always  a  traditional  and  transmitted  one,  and 
never  originates  in  the  spontaneous  action  of  the  people 
themselves.  In  every  instance  it  will  be  found  to  be  an 
impulse  communicated  from  the  philosophy  prevalent 
among  the  few,  who  consecrate  their  lives  to  thought 
and  reflection. 

True  skepticism  is  then  peculiar  to  men  who  reflect, 
whose  social  function,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  is 
thinking.  Absolute  skepticism  is  always  foreign  to  the 
mass.  The  skepticism  to  which  they  are  liable  is  ac- 
tual skepticism  ;  and  this  is,  as  we  have  seen,  not  a 
determined  disposition,  but  an  accidental  state  of  mind, 
consisting  in  a  simple  want  of  knowledge  as  to  what 
the  truth  is  upon  the  great  questions  of  human  interest. 

No  student  of  history,  gentlemen,  will  deny  that  there 
have  been  eras,  when  this  actual  skepticism,  this  want 
of  all  faith  and  conviction,  has  been  widely  spread 
throughout  the  mass  of  mankind ;  or  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, there  have  been  eras,  when  systems  giving  definite 
solutions  of  all  great  questions  have  prevailed.  History 
shows  us  states  of  society,  where  whole  nations,  from 


THE    SF  CPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.          '251 

the  child  who  his  not  begun  to  think,  to  the  old  man  on 
the  verge  o'  life,  have  believed  firmly  in  certain  abso- 
lute dogims;  and  it  shows  us  also  other  states,  where 
whole  no  ions  have  been  plunged  in  doubt  and  igno- 
rance as  to  truth.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  then,  there  have 
been  e/as,  when  actual  skepticism  has  pervaded  the 
mass,  and  others,  when  it  has  been  unknown. 

ILstory  assigns  to  these  different  states  of  society 
naT/ies  which  are  most  distinctive  of  their  peculiar 
characteristics.  She  calls  the  former  religious  eras,  the 
atter  irreligious ;  because  in  the  one  religion  has  pre- 
vailed, while  in  the  other  its  influence  has  been  want- 
ing. For,  observe,  a  system  of  faith  upon  the  great 
questions  of  human  interest,  established  on  the  common 
convictions  of  all  men,  of  the  enlightened,  and  of  the 
people  alike,  always  assumes  the  form  and  receives  the 
name  of  a  religion.  Thus  far,  in  the  world's  history, 
it  has  always  been  under  a  religious  form,  that  the  great 
ideas,  which  have  possessed  nations,  and  governed  and 
guided  them,  have  been  exhibited.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  eras,  where  the  mass  have  wanted  all  faith  and 
established  convictions,  have  been  those  in  which  reli- 
gious faith  was  annihilated,  and  where  no  religious 
doctrine  prevailed.  It  is  with  good  reason,  then,  that 
history  distinguishes  as  religious  the  eras  of  faith,  and 
as  irreligious  those  of  actual  skepticism. 

What,  now,  it  may  be  asked,  are  the  causes  of  this 
skepticism?  I  have  elsewhere  exhibited  them,  and 
they  are  at  the  present  day  well  known.  When  a  sys- 
tem of  faith  has  prevailed  among  the  mass  for  a  length 
of  time,  there  will  and  must  coine  a  period,  sooner  or 
later,  when  the  errors,  which  are  intermingled  with 


252  JOUFFROY. 

even  the  highest  and  most  important  truth  in  all  hu- 
man opinions,  will  strike  the  minds  of  the  enlightened. 
Then  springs  up  a  spirit  of  critical  examination,  which, 
scrutinizing  the  whole  system  of  faith,  and  discover- 
ing its  various  imperfections,  ends  by  concluding,  that 
where  the  parts  are  so  defective,  the  whole  system  must 
be  unworthy  of  credit  in  an  advanced  stage  of  society. 
It  is  among  philosophers,  or  at  least  among  the  most  in- 
telligent members  of  society,  that  such  a  revolution  com- 
mences ;  and  it  is  among  them  that  it  is  carried  out  and 
completed ;  but  the  results  of  their  researches  penetrate 
all  classes,  and  finding  their  way  down  from  the  summit 
to  the  base  of  society,  reach  finally  the  mass,  where, 
sapping  and  ruining  all  convictions  and  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  truth,  they  produce  a  total  want  of  faith.  Such 
is  the  progress  of  actual  skepticism  among  the  people. 
It  is  a  result  of  a  foreign  and  superior  influence,  that  is, 
of  the  action  of  philosophers,  who,  summing  up  the 
knowledge  which  the  human  race  has  attained,  and 
comparing  with  it  the  prevailing  faith,  discover  and 
announce  that  this  received  system  is  not  on  a  level 
with  the  advanced  intelligence  of  their  age,  and  should 
therefore  be  rejected. 

That  we,  gentlemen,  at  the  present  day,  are  living  in 
such  an  era  is  so  evident,  that  few  would  be  inclined  to 
question  it.  How,  indeed,  can  it  be  denied  that  in 
most  minds  now  there  is  an  utter  want  of  faith  upon 
the  great  questions  which  interest  man?  And  yet,  in 
the  midst  of  this  actual  skepticism,  you  cannot  find  a 
shadow  of  absolute  philosophic  skepticism.  Indeed,  it* 
you  could  penetrate  the  minds  of  the  mass,  you  could 
not  find  in  their  modes  of  thinking  any  one  of  the 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE. 

grounds  of  absolute  skepticism  even  so  much  as  sus- 
pected. The  people  do  not  trouble  themselves  with 
asking,  "  What  is  the  authority  of  the  human  faculties? " 
or,  "  What  is  the  nature  of  the  object  of  knowledge,  or 
the  nature  of  knowledge  itself?  "  They  are  utterly  igno- 
rant whether  the  nature  of  our  faculties,  of  the  object 
of  knowledge,  and  of  knowledge  itself,  are,  or  are  not, 
such  as  would  lead  to  the  conclusion,  that  the  mind  is 
incapable  of  arriving  at  truth.  The  mass  never  think 
of  this.  But  further  I  will  say,  that  even  in  the  more 
intelligent  portion  of  society,  in  that  portion  which 
thinks  and  reflects,  and  may  properly  be  called  the 
philosophic  class,  the  elements  of  absolute  skepticism 
are  hardly  to  be  found  at  all,  or  only  in  a  very  small 
degree.  Without  doubt,  in  our  age,  as  in  all  ages,  there 
are  minds  to  which  such  considerations  present  them- 
selves; but  the  incredulity  of  our  age  is  not  caused  by 
them.  The  cause  of  prevalent  incredulity  is,  simply, 
that  all  former  solutions  of  interesting  problems  have 
been  refuted,  and  that  no  others  as  yet  are  found.  Our 
age  is  not  so  much  skeptical,  as  it  is  wanting  in  faith ; 
it  does  not  believe  that  the  truth  cannot  be  discovered ; 
it  is  merely  ignorant  of  the  truth. 

The  revolution,  of  which  this  state  of  mind  is  the 
result,  had  its  origin  long  ago ;  it  dates  back  not  to  the 
political  revolution  of  1830,  nor  the  events  of  1814,  nor 
to  the  social  revolution  of  1789 ;  it  has  come  down  from 
a  much  earlier  age,  and  began  as  far  back  as  the  fif- 
teenth century.  I  say  as  far,  because  we  should  find,  on 
close  examination,  that  it  had  an  origin  yet  more  remote. 

In  this  revolution  there  have  been  two  distinct  peri- 
ods, each  having  its  peculiar  causes,  character,  and 


254  JOUFFROY. 

results;  ana  we  must  distinguish   these  periods  accu-v 
rately,  if  we  would  form  a  precise  notion  of  our  present 
situation. 

Before  this  want  of  all  conviction,  which  I  have 
described,  can  pervade  any  people,  there  must  have 
been  previously  a  conflict  of  longer  or  shorter  duration, 
but  still  a  violent  one,  against  the  dominant  faith. 
Every  such  revolution,  as  we  have  been  considering, 
has  necessarily  its  origin  in  a  period  of  warfare  with 
prevalent  opinions,  terminating  in  their  defeat  and 
overthrow.  Now,  in  the  present  instance,  a  controversy 
of  this  nature  has  been  continued  from  earlier  times -to 
our  own  day;  and  it  was  indeed  the  striking  and  dis- 
tinguishing characteristic  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
that  it  was  incompetent  to  finish  the  controversy  which 
had  been  transmitted  to  it.  The  eighteenth  century 
was  the  closing  scene  of  the  first  period  of  the  revolu- 
tion, in  the  midst  of  which  we  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury are  living;  it  did  not  begin  this  revolution;  it 
neither  discovered  nor  announced  its  leading  principles; 
but  it  did  make  them  popularly  known,  and  did  dissem- 
inate their  results  through  society.  The  eighteenth 
century  acted  an  important  part,  therefore,  in  the  pro- 
gress of  this  revolution,  for  it  exhibited  plainly  to  all 
eyes  the  true  nature  of  the  controversy. 

In  this  first  period  of  the  revolution,  the  loss  of 
earlier  convictions  was  not  accompanied  with  a  desire 
of  another  faith  to  supply  their  place.  We  do  not  find, 
in  the  skeptical  writers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  any 
longing  expressed  for  faith.  They  were  filled  with  a 
sense  of  the  work  of  destruction  which  they  were  com 
missioned  to  perform;  but,  so  far  were  they  from  being 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.          255 

conscious  of  a  desire  and  need  of  faith,  that  they  even 
rejoiced  and  triumphed  in  their  skepticism  as  in  their 
chief  title  to  honor.  We  have  reached  an  era  now,  how- 
ever, when  the  results  of  this  destructive  war  remain, 
without  the  joy  in  casting  off  belief  which  characterized 
the  last  century  This  change  is  a  momentous  one,  and 
it  could  not  but  come.  It  is  not  in  our  nature  to  remain 
satisfied  without  light  upon  the  great  questions  of  human 
interest :  when  the  mind  has  once  lost  the  truth,  it 
must  seek  it  anew,  for  it  cannot  live  without  it.  It  is 
only  by  a  transient  illusion,  that,  in  the  earlier  period  of 
the  revolutionary  era,  rest  and  peace  are  sought  in  skep- 
ticism ;  no  sooner  is  victory  attained  than  the  illusion  is 
dissipated,  and  the  need  of  faith  again  is  felt.  Then 
begins  the  second  period  of  the  revolutionary  move- 
ment, a  period  in  which,  all  conviction  being  destroyed, 
the  desire  for  faith  is  once  more  felt  with  all  its  conse- 
quences. And  this  is  precisely  our  situation  at  the 
present  day ;  we  have  a  want  of  faith  arid  a  longing  for 
it.  These  are  the  two  characteristics  of  our  age.  And 
our  actual  condition  in  all  its  detail  will  seem  perfectly 
intelligible,  and  even  such  as  he  might  have  predicted, 
to  any  one,  who  fully  comprehends  the  logical  conse- 
quences, of  these  states  of  mind.  Let  us,  then,  attempt 
to  follow  out  the  chief  of  these  consequences. 

The  striking  and  predominant  trait  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  gentlemen,  was  a  disposition  to  admit  nothing 
as  worthy  of  belief.  As  the  work  then  to  be  completed 
was  the  destruction  of  all  that  was  false,  the  tendency 
of  every  mind  was  to  skepticism.  But  now,  when  a 
desire  for  faith  coexists  with  a  want  of  all  conviction 


256  JOUFFR(  r. 

and  established  principle,  a  wholly  opposite  disposition 
has  been  developed,  even  a  disposition  to  believe  every 
thing;  and  this  disposition  to  believe  every  thing  is 
really  a  distinctive  characteristic  of  our  age,  often  as 
men  deceive  themselves  by  calling  it  a  skeptical  one. 

The  consequences  of  this  disposition  to  believe  every 
thing  have  been  different  in  different  minds.  Impelled 
by  the  common  want,  some  have  endeavored  to  repro- 
duce the  faith  of  past  ages;  and  this  was  natural 
enough,  because,  as  that  faith  had  already  once  received 
a  definite  and  complete  shape,  it  was  necessary  only  to 
readopt  it.  This  class  of  persons  have  pronounced 
their  anathema  against  the  three  last  centuries,  and  all 
that  they  have  accomplished,  especially  against  the 
eighteenth,  the  most  fatal  of  all  to  previously  established 
convictions.  Devotees  to  the  past,  they  admire  and 
honor  it,  and  seek  to  reestablish  in  their  rninds,  and 
rekindle  in  their  hearts,  that  faith  which  these  three 
centuries  have  extinguished.  Another  class  have  be- 
come utterly  discouraged ;  and  seeing  behind  them 
only  ruined  and  overthrown  convictions,  and  before 
them  an  empty  void,  they  have  given  up  all  hope  of  find- 
ing truth.  This  is  the  party  of  despair.  There  is  a 
third  class,  incomparably  the  largest,  who  are  waiting 
for  a  good  which  the  future  is  to  bring ;  they,  too,  feel 
the  want  of  faith,  but  they  neither  despair  of  finding  it, 
nor  do  they  seek  it  in  the  past,  —  they  look  for  it  to  the 
comma-  time. 

o 

It  is  natural  and  necessary  that  the  party  of  the  past 
and  the  party  of  despair  should  be  small  in  number  and 
in  influence ;  the  third  party  only,  which,  impelled  by 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.    257 

common  want,  seek  to  satisfy  it  by  the  discovery  of  a 
new  moral  order  of  the  social  world,  can  hope  for 
success. 

This  movement  of  loving  and  seeking  for  a  new  faith 
has  introduced  a  new  period  in  the  revolution.  It  be- 
gan with  the  persuasion  that  the  faith  of  the  future 
must  be  directly  opposite  to  that  of  the  past —  an  illusion 
quite  natural  and  conformable  to  the  laws  of  the  human 
mind.  We  all  reason  thus  in  great  and  small  affairs 
alike ;  it  is  the  first  and  instinctive  movement  of  the 
human  mind.  This  reaction  produced  a  general  ten- 
dency to  the  opposite  of  what  had  already  been.  We 
had  been  living  under  an  absolute  government ;  we 
were  driven,  therefore,  to  the  opposite  of  such  a  govern- 
ment, that  is,  to  a  democracy.  The  philosophy  of  the 
Christian  faith  which  had  prevailed  was  eminently 
spiritual ;  a  material  faith  was  therefore  introduced  to 
reign  for  its  moment.  Art,  too,  under  the  influence  of 
Christianity,  had  been  spiritual  and  ideal,  like  the  con- 
victions which  it  imbodied  ;  and  art,  therefore,  must 
become,  as  it  did  under  David,  first  material,  and  then, 
somewhat  later,  fond  of  the  actual,  and  even  of  the  de- 
formed. The  morality  of  a  Christian  era  had  been  a 
morality  of  devotedness,  of  self-sacrifice,  productive  of 
greatness  of  soul  and  character ;  the  morality  which 
followed  the  triumph  of  skepticism  was  that  of  pleasure 
and  self-interest.  Such  were  the  first  fruits  of  the 
reconstructive  impulse,  which,  setting  out  from  the  void 
that  doubt  had  brought,  rushed  into  the  opposite  of 
what  had  been,  with  frenzied  ardor.  The  necessary 
result  of  such  a  movement  was  to  produce  such  an 
exaggerated  and  unnatural  mode  of  thinking  as  could 

w  a 


258  JOUFFROY. 

not  long  fail  to  awaken  disgust  and  dread.  And  for  this 
plain  reason ;  when  skepticism  succeeds  in  overturning 
a  system  of  faith  that  has  long  prevailed  over  any  large 
portion  of  the  human  race,  it  is  on  account  of  the  errors 
and  imperfections  of  that  system.  But  skepticism  is 
not  confined  to  these  errors,  and  does  not  limit  itself  to 
a  demand  of  their  rejection  ;  reasoning  from  the  parts 
to  the  whole,  it  pronounces  the  entire  system  false,  and 
the  generations  absurd  which  have  held  it.  Hence  the 
illusion  that  truth  will  be  found  in  what  is  exactly 
opposite  to  past  conviction.  Now,  it  is  impossible  that 
the  human  race  should  be  governed  for  ages  by  ideas 
which  are  wholly  false :  there  must,  then,  have  been  a 
large  portion  of  truth  in  any  doctrine  which  has  for  a 
length  of  time  been  generally  admitted ;  for  thus,  and 
thus  only,  could  it  have  acquired  and  preserved  its  as- 
cendency. To  throw  ourselves,  then,  in  our  desire  to 
reconstruct  a  faith,  headlong  into  the  very  opposite  of 
what  has  heretofore  been  believed,  is  necessarily  to  turn 
away  from  much  which  certainly  is  true,  in  the  search  of 
what  may  be  either  true  or  not.  Systems  which  origi- 
nate in  such  a  mad  movement  of  reaction,  are  destined 
always  to  disappear,  after  a  short  existence,  before  the 
good  sense  of  mankind.  And  thus  already  have  we 
seen  the  reign  of  materialism  and  deformity  disappear 
from  art.  And  in  literature,  also,  the  impassioned 
style,  which  has  overstepped  and  trampled  down  the 
rules  of  Aristotle  and  Boileau,  may  be  considered  as 
nearly  exhausted  and  soon  to  pass  away.  The  same 
movement  carried  us  from  the  old  political  regime  to 
extreme  and  unlimited  democracy  ;  but  already  has  this 
tendency  begun  to  be  most  seriously  and  severely 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.          259 

judged  by  that  good  sense,  which  sees  at  once  its  in- 
conveniences and  excesses.  The  reign  of  materialism 
has  been  of  short  duration  ;  and  already,  in  the  hearts 
of  the  young,  at  least,  is  spiritualism  enthroned  :  in- 
deed, it  would  be  difficult  to  find,  in  society  at  large, 
any  individuals  advocating  that  moral  code  of  mere 
pleasure,  which  was  openly  professed  by  the  most 
respectable  of  the  last  century.  It  appears  plain, 
therefore,  that  many  of  the  extreme  tendencies  of  the 
reaction  are  already  dead,  while  others  show  symptoms 
of  decay. 

The  systems  which  resulted  from  these  tendencies, 
were  thus  destined  to  be  short  lived ;  the  fruits  of  a 
blind  reaction,  they  were  blind  and  fanatical  them- 
selves. And  now  that  their  ephemeral  reign  is  ended, 
we  are  fast  falling,  and  have,  in  part,  already  fallen 
into  a  state  yet  worse  than  that  which  immediately 
succeeded  the  triumph  of  skepticism.  Then,  indeed, 
there  was  an  absence  of  all  faith,  but  there  was  not 
a  want  of  confidence  in  our  power  of  attaining  to 
truth ;  for  we  had  not  yet  tested  the  power  by  trial, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  be  easy  to  find  new 
solutions  of  the  problems  of  greatest  interest  to  man, 
in  place  of  former  ones,  which  were  destroyed.  But 
now,  when  the  first  efforts  of  reason,  in  the  examination 
of  these  questions,  has  failed,  —  now,  when  we  have 
seen  only  systems  invented,  so  foolish  as  to  deserve 
no  respect,  —  doubt  arises  as  to  the  capacity  of  human 
intelligence  to  re-discover  the  truth  which  we  have 
lost ;  and  hence  a  more  profound  uncertainty  and  a 
deeper  consciousness  of  want  of  faith  than  was  felt 
at  first.  From  this  feeling  of  want  and  of  uncertainty 


260 


JOUFFROY. 


have  originated  the  most  striking  peculiarities  of  the 
present  age. 

You  may  have  remarked  that,  when,  in  meditating 
by  yourselves,  or  in  conversation  with  others,  you  seek 
to  determine  what  is  beautiful  or  deformed,  true  or 
false,  good  or  bad,  you  meet  with  difficulties;  and 
that,  in  all  debates  upon  such  questions,  each  side 
seems  to  have  reasons  in  its  favor,  and  defenders  ;  so 
that  it  actually  appears  as  if  arguments  for  and  against 
were  equally  strong  and  worthy  of  consideration. 

But,  gentlemen,  do  you,  therefore,  conclude  that 
this  is  the  natural  state  of  human  intelligence,  or  that 
these  are  phenomena  common  to  all  eras  ?  By  no 
means.  It  is  the  absence,  in  our  day,  of  any  criterion 
of  true  and  false,  of  good  and  bad,  of  beauty  and 
deformity,  which  produces  this  condition  of  things. 
As  all  first  principles  have  been  destroyed,  all  rules 
to  guide  the  judgment  have  been  abolished  also ; 
and,  without  a  common  rule  recognized  by  judgment, 
we  cannot  have  a  common  understanding  with  others, 
or  arrive  at  a  certain  solution  of  any  question.  And 
what  is  the  consequence  ?  Each  individual  will  feel 
that  he  is  free  to  believe  as  he  chooses,  and  will 
declare,  with  authority,  his  chosen  faith.  By  what 
test  shall  it  be  condemned  ?  By  that  of  some  grand 
truth  which  is  recognized  and  admitted  1  There  is 
none.  By  the  authority,  then,  only  of  any  one  who 
disputes  his  opinion,  and  who,  as  he  is  his  equal, 
cannot  be  his  judge.  In  our  day,  individuals  reign 
supreme;  their  authority  is  complete  and  unlimited. 
And,  as  the  right  of  each  individual  to  think  as  he 
pleases,  has  naturally  produced  an  infinite  variety  of 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.  261 

opinions,  all  equal  in  worth  and  authority,  the  result 
is  that  state  of  complete  intellectual  anarchy  amid 
which  we  are  livincr.  On  the  one  side  is  the  unlim- 

o 

ited  authority  of  the  individual;  for  this  authority  is 
subject  to  no  common  faith,  no  admitted  criterion 
of  truth,  by  which  all  minds  are  governed  and  di- 
rected, and  around  which  they  rally.  On  the  other 
side  is  an  infinite  diversity  of  opinion ;  for,  as  the 
authority  of  one  individual  is  equal  to  that  of  another, 
each  is  entitled  to  call  his  opinion  true.  Individuality 
and  anarchy,  then,  are  the  two  great  characteristics 
of  our  era;  they  are  inevitable  in  the  present  age,  arid, 
as  we  see,  they  every  where  prevail. 

One  further  circumstance  cooperates  to  establish 
this  state  of  intellectual  democracy.  It  is  experience 
which  chiefly  produces  inequality  between  men,  stor- 
ing, as  it  does,  the  minds  of  those  who  have  lived 
longest  with  the  greatest  variety  of  facts  and  ideas. 
But  it  is  the  tendency  of  eras  like  our  own  to  call 
in  question  this  incontrovertible  fact.  Succeeding 
to  long  ages  which  have  believed  in  what  is  now 
proved  to  be  false,  it  has,  and  cannot  but  have,  a 
contempt  for  the  past ;  the  past  is  to  it  the  symbol  of 
error ;  thus  far  it  thinks  rnen  have  known  nothing  and 
doubted  nothing ;  truth  is  to  be  sought  and  found 
in  the  future ;  the  more  attached  we  are  to  the  past, 
the  further  are  we  from  truth;  and  truth  is  nearer, 
the  more  we  live  in  the  future  and  the  younger  we 
are.  Hence  the  thorough  disdain  for  experience  and 
antiquity  which  marks  our  times.  The  young  man 
of  to-day  measures  himself  with  those  of  many  years ; 


262  JOUFFROY. 

and,  before  his  school  days  are  over,  the  boy  thiiiks 
and  declares  himself  equal  to  his  sire ;  and  this  state 
of  things  is  a  strict  and  necessary  consequence  of 
what  has  gone  before.  This  notion  of  the  equality 
of  minds  is  carried  so  far,  that  the  judgment  of 
eighteen  has  as  much  authority  as  that  of  fifty ;  and 
the  reasoning  of  a  day  laborer,  on  a  question  of  policy, 
is  considered  as  decisive  as  that  of  a  statesman  whose 
whole  life  has  been  passed  in  the  midst  of  public  affairs, 
or  of  a  student  grown  gray  in  thought.  Undoubtedly, 
the  good  sense  which  survives  the  greatest  aberrations 
of  human  intelligence,  will  moderate  this  intellectual 
democracy,  and  check  the  consequences  which  may 
be  seen  logically  to  flow  from  it ;  but,  though  checked, 
they  yet  more  or  less  appear,  as  if  to  make  mankind 
aware  of  their  tendencies. 

This  is  not  all,  gentlemen :  the  conviction  that  the 
past  has  been  deceived,  leads  to  a  disregard  of  the 
serious  study  of  historical  facts ;  and  the  conviction 
that  there  is  no  criterion  for  truth,  produces  a  con- 
tempt for  reflection ;  and  hence  results  a  profound 
ignorance,  which,  combined  with  presumption,  are  two 
characteristic  traits  of  the  present  intellectual  era. 
The  consequence  of  this  upon  the  literary  produc- 
tions of  our  time,  is  the  amazing  folly  with  which 
notions,,  at  once  the  most  absurd  and  trite,  are  confi- 
dently thrown  out,  and  the  utter  want  of  all  such 
positive  knowledge  as  would  authorize  the  confidence. 
These  two  defects  are,  however,  but  the  necessary 
consequences  of  the  individuality  and  intellectual 
anarchy  which  disturb  us  :  they  are  the  natural  result 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.     263 

of  our  present  situation,  which  is  itself  a  necessary 
period  in  the  revolutionary  movement  now  passing 
around  us. 

The  effect  of  the  various  facts  which  1  have  now 
been  describing,  is  a  general  weakness  of  character. 
Character,  indeed,  scarcely  exists  in  our  day,  and  for 
this  reason ;  of  the  two  elements  of  which  character  is 
composed,  —  firm  will  and  fixed  principles,  —  the  second 
is  wanting,  and  the  first,  therefore,  powerless.  For 
to  what  end  would  be  a  firm  will  without  fixed  prin- 
ciples ?  A  mighty  instrument,  doubtless^  but  a  useless 
one.  Governed  and  directed  by  strong  conviction, 
it  will  work  wonders  of  decision,  of  devotedness,  of 
constancy  and  heroism.  But  in  such  an  age  as  ours, 
without  established  faith  and  fixed  ideas,  and  without, 
moreover,  the  power  of  forming  them,  where  the  only 
authority  is  the  caprice  of  individuals,  who,  proud 
of  independence,  glory  in  deciding  in  every  case  for 
themselves,  how  can  such  a  will  exist  ?  He  who  has 
faith  is  proof  against  the  absurd  ideas  and  foolish 
imaginations  which  visit  even  the  soundest  mind : 
strong  in  his  convictions,  he  applies  them  as  a  test 
and  a  criterion ;  and  chimeras,  fancies,  and  inconsis- 
tencies disappear,  while  that  alone,  which  is  in  har- 
mony with  his  convictions,  remains.  But  we,  who 
are  without  faith,  want  this  criterion ;  and,  therefore, 
we  can  neither  judge,  approve,  nor  blame.  And, 
consequently,  as  a  fact,  we  neither  do  approve  nor 
condemn ;  we  accept  and  tolerate  every  thing ;  and, 
by  turns,  the  sport  of  wholly  opposite  opinions,  we 
are  wanting  in  well-ordered  purposes,  in  definite  plans 
for  conduct,  and  in  dignity  of  character.  What  I 


264  JOUFFROY. 

now  state  is  not  brought  forward  in  the  way  of  re- 
proach, but  as  a  matter  of  fact ;  our  age  is  what 
it  actually  is  by  necessity.  I  only  describe  and  ex- 
plain it. 

The  love  of  change,  gentlemen,  is  another  charac- 
teristic of  our  present  intellectual  condition.  Love 
of  any  kind  is  only  a  desire  for  something  which  we 
need ;  and  our  great  need  now  is,  of  those  truths 
which  may  restore  and  regenerate  individuals  and 
society  ;  it  is  in  the  future  only  that  we  can  expect 
to  find  them.  Hence  our  age  is  looking  with  hope 
and  love  to  that  future,  and  gives  itself  up  cheerfully 
to  change.  We  seem  to  be  living  not  so  much  in 
the  present  as  in  the  future,  and  receive  each  novelty 
with  rapturous  enthusiasm ;  as  if,  because  new,  it 
was  that  of  which  we  feel  the  want.  The  secret 
and  unconscious  longing  of  our  hearts  is  for  some- 
thing yet  untried,  as  if  it  alone  could  satisfy  our 
desires. 

Hence  that  indiscriminate  passion  for  revolution, 
which  makes  us  the  dupes  and  tools  of  each  adven- 
turer's ambitious  dreams,  and  renders  vain  the  sacri- 
fices and  the  cost  of  social  convulsion. 

For,  observe,  what  we  need  is  no  mere  outward 
change.  Let  society  pass  through  any  number  of 
outward  revolutions,  and,  unless  the  ideas  which  it  is 
in  want  of  are  thereby  supplied,  they  will  leave  it 
exactly  where  it  was,  and  will  be  wholly  useless. 
What  we  want  is,  an  answer  to  these  questions,  which 
Christianity  has  heretofore  answered,  but  which,  to 
many,  remain  unanswered  now ;  and  nothing  is  so 
\\\  calculated  to  supply  this  want,  as  tumults  in  the 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.    265 

streets,  and  overturns  of  governments.  Reflection 
alone  makes  discoveries  in  truth,  and  peace  is  needed 
for  reflection.  Outward  revolutions  are,  indeed,  of 
service,  when  they  tend  to  realize  the  truths  which 
have  already  been  discovered ;  but  to  desire  revolution, 
when  the  truths  for  which  an  age  is  sighing  are  yet 
unknown,  and  as  a  means  for  discovering  them,  is  to 
commit  the  absurdity  of  wishing  that  the  consequence 
should  produce  its  principle,  or  an  end  its  means. 

This,  however,  is  the  very  thing  which  the  multi- 
tude does  not  see;  it  is  so  deluded  as  to  expect,  from 
every  future  change,  that  new  and  unknown  something 
which  may  make  them  happy.  They  hurry  on  to 
revolution  with  blind  madness,  impatient  of  the 
present,  eager  for  the  future.  Before  this  torrent  of 
popular  passion  no  institution  can  stand,  no  govern- 
ment endure.  Hence  such  short-lived  popularity  as 
we  continually  see.  When  a  new  man  appears  in  the 
political  world,  we  greet  him  with  admiration  and 
honor.  Why?  Because  we  hope  that  in  him  we 
have  at  last  found  one  who  can  satisfy  our  wants. 
And  what  follows  1  As  he,  no  more  than  we  our- 
selves, has  any  answer  for  the  problems  which  we 
wish  to  solve,  in  a  few  weeks  after  his  elevation  to 
power,  we  find  him  barren  and  empty  as  his  prede- 
cessors, and  at  once  his  popularity  declines.  In  our 
day,  in  fact,  the  mere  possession  of  power  is  reason 
sufficient  for  unpopularity.  They  only  are,  or  can  be, 
popular,  who  have  not  yet  acquired  the  power  they 
seek.  They,  as  yet,  have  not  uttered  their  secret ; 
ind  the  moment  when  they  are  in  a  position  to  declare 
it,  and  when  it  appears  that  they,  like  the  rest,  have 

VOL.    I.  X 


266  JOUFFROY. 

no  more  to  tell,  the  warm  favor  which  welcomed  them 
grows  cool,  for  the  illusion  which  made  them  great 
is  gone. 

From  what  has  now  been  said,  gentlemen,  you  can 
readily  perceive  the  cause  of  the  unhappiness  of  that 
collective  being,  called  a  government,  in  our  day. 
The  people  are  like  children,  who  feel  a  want,  and 
cry  to  the  nurse  for  something,  —  she  can  neither 
discover  nor  imagine  what,  —  and  which,  very  possibly, 
may  be  wholly  out  of  reach.  The  people  feel  a  pain- 
ful uneasiness,  but  they  know  not  its  cause ;  and  they 
complain,  therefore,  now  of  the  form  of  government 
under  which  they  live,  and  then  of  those  who  conduct 
it,  because  the  evil  which  they  suffer  from  is  not  rooted 
out.  They  forever  desire  to  substitute  other  men 
for  those  now  in  power;  in  place  of  established  forms, 
they  would  have  new  ones;  and,  for  existing  laws, 
and  the  social  order  already  prevailing,  they  seek 
new  laws  and  a  new  order ;  persuaded  that  the 
source  of  the  evil  is  in  the  government,  in  the  laws, 
in  the  organization  of  society,  and  that,  with  the 
change  of  these,  they  shall  find  what  they  seek. 
But,  were  all  changed,  they  would  still  remain  as 
unhappy  and  discontented  as  at  first ;  for  the  changes 
they  desire  are  only  outward  and  material,  not  moral, 
while  it  is  a  moral  change  of  which  there  really  is 
a  need.  And,  as  long  as  the  desired  solutions  of 
these  questions  remain  tm found,  in  the  light  of  which 
society  is  to  be  remodelled  in  a  form  adequate  to 
the  wants  of  the  human  mind,  so  long  will  society 
continue  to  pass  through  a  constant  succession  of 
ineffectual  changes. 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.  267 

Whence  arose  that  social  structure,  whose  foun- 
dations the  three  lust  centuries  have  sapped,  and 
which  the  revolution  finally  overthrew?  It  arose 
from  the  solutions  which  Christianity  had  given  of 
the  great  problems  of  human  interest.  These  solu- 
tions, unlike  those  proposed  by  the  wise  of  our  time, 
were  not  negative  in  character ;  and  hence  the  results 
to  which  they  led  in  art,  religion,  and  politics,  were 
positive.  Institutions  and  laws  proceeded  from  them  ; 
organizations  and  forms  of  government,  social  and 
political  order,  were  wrapped  as  a  germ  in  these 
solutions;  and  this  order  has  been,  and  could  not 
but  have  been,  unfolded  in  past  ages.  At  the  present 
day,  this  order  is  destroyed ;  and,  to  produce  another 
in  its  room,  we  need  a  new  germ  ;  that  is  to  say, 
new  solutions  of  those  grand  questions  which  Chris- 
tianity has  heretofore  answered.  These  questions  must 
be  answered  before  either  individuals  or  communities 
can  be  reorganized,  and  reproduce  a  new  system 
of  life  and  conduct.  How,  indeed,  can  they,  who 
know  not  the  end  for  which  they  are  living  upon 
earth,  determine  the  manner  in  which  they  ought 
to  live?  And,  ignorant  of  this,  how  can  they  constitute, 
organize,  and  regulate  society?  If  we  know  not 
the  destiny  of  individuals,  we  cannot  know  that  of 
society;  and,  if  we  know  not  the  destiny  of  society, 
we  cannot  organize  it.  A  religious  and  moral  faith  is, 
then,  the  only  possible  solution  of  political  problems. 
We  have  not  such  a  faith ;  and  no  outward  revolution, 
therefore,  whatsoever,  can  accomplish  any  thing  for 
society. 

We    cannot   meditate   too    much    upon    these   con- 


268  JOUFFROY. 

siderations,  if  we  would  acquire  a  distinct  and  accu- 
rate view  of  the  present  state  of  things ;  for  here, 
and  not  elsewhere,  is  its  explanation.  But  the  people 
are  ignorant  of  their  true  condition,  and  their  blind 
and  generous  impulses,  therefore,  are  used  as  instru- 
ments by  ambitious  men.  Each  day  appear  a  crowd 
of  empirics,  who  promise,  on  the  single  condition 
of  being  raised  to  power,  that  they  can  supply  the 
want  of  which  all  are  conscious,  and  seek  in  vain 
to  satisfy.  The  intelligent  and  enlightened  see  that 
these  quacks  abuse  their  power ;  but,  as  if  they  had 
really  found  that  unknown  something  for  which  all 
are  craving,  they  talk  of  republic,  of  unlimited  suffrage, 
of  legitimacy ;  and,  seduced  by  the  word,  which  we 
mistake  for  a  thing,  we  passionately  pursue  the  untried 
good,  and  discover  our  mistake  only  when  experience 
has  proved  that  it  is  an  empty  name.  Thus,  again 
and  again,  we  give  new  names  to  the  unknown  good, 
and  chase  a  thousand  phantoms,  which  can  never 
satisfy  us,  but  will  forever  leave  us  discontented  as 
before.  Here  is  the  explanation  of  the  constant 
disappointments,  which,  for  forty  years,  the  friends 
of  social  liberty  have  experienced  in  France. 

By  turns,  each  new  form  of  freedom  has  seemed 
to  be  the  good  for  which  we  were  sighing,  and  a 
want  of  it  the  source  of  all  our  woes.  But,  when 
successively  we  have  acquired  them,  and  yet  found 
ourselves  unimproved  in  condition,  we  are  restless 
as  before;  and  a  revolution  is  scarcely  over,  when 
the  plan  is  sketched  for  a  new  one.  The  cause 
of  this  is  our  ignorance  of  our  own  condition.  These 
various  forms  of  civil  liberty,  which  we  have  been 


THE    SKEPTICISM    OF    THE    PRESENT    AGE.  269 

struggling  for,  —  civil  liberty  itself,  even,  —  is  not, 
and  cannot  be,  the  end  which  society,  in  our  day, 
is  really  pursuing.  It  is,  indeed,  an  advantage  of 
free  communities,  that  no  master  can  turn  them 
from  the  pursuit  of  their  true  end,  and  impose  upon 
them  one  of  his  own  choosing;  and  they  have  this 
additional  advantage,  that  they  are  better  fitted  than 
other  communities  to  discover  and  accomplish  their 
true  destiny.  In  this  twofold  aspect,  the  various  suc- 
cessive forms  of  civil  liberty  have  been  beneficial; 
but  beyond  this  they  have  brought  no  good.  Liberty 
is  nothing  more  than  an  opportunity  offered  to  a 
people  of  accomplishing  its  destiny,  and  a  guaranty 
that  it  shall  not  be  hindered  from  so  doing :  liberty  is 
not,  in  itself,  the  accomplishment  of  that  destiny. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  order ;  and  it  is  plain,  there- 
fore, that  the  true  destiny  of  a  community  is  some- 
thing different  from,  arid  superior  to,  both  liberty  and 
order. 

Do  you  doubt  this,  gentlemen  1  Examine,  then, 
the  various  rights  which  we  now  enjoy,  and  see  if 
they  are  any  thing  more  than  opportunities  and 
means.  We  were  filled  with  a  passion  for  popular 
election,  and,  after  long  struggles,  secured  the  privi- 
lege ;  and,  in  consequence,  a  large  number  of  our 
fellow-citizens  now  take  a  part  in  the  appointment  of 
the  highest  public  functionaries.  And,  when,  at 
great  expense,  we  assemble  our  citizens  to  elect  those 
who  shall  command  the  national  militia,  or  become 
municipal  counsellors,  or  counsellors  of  departments, 
or  members  of  the  chamber  of  deputies,  what  do  we 
really  accomplish  ?  Two  things.  In  the  first  place, 


270  JOUFFROY. 

we  give  a  pledge  that  no  individual  shall  be  allowed 
to  substitute  his  private  interests  for  those  of  his 
country,  or  to  prevent  the  nation  from  accomplishing 
its  destiny;  and,  secondly,  we  intrust  to  the  assembled 
citizens  the  responsibility  of  determining  arid  declar- 
ing what  measures  are  most  for  the  public  good,  or, 
at  least,  of  sending  to  the  various  national  councils 
men  who  can  decide  upon  them,  or  elect,  among 
themselves,  competent  persons  to  be  in  power.  Such 
are  the  reasons  for  which  popular  elections  are  valua- 
ble ;  but  of  these  two  results,  one  positive  and  the 
other  negative,  mere  election  attains  only  the  first; 
it  really  does  prevent  any  individual  from  using  the 
country  for  his  own  purposes  ;  and  this  is  all  that  it 
can  do;  for,  if  the  electors  and  those  elected  are 
ignorant  of  what  constitutes  the  public  good,  it  is 
plain  that  our  wants  will  not  be  satisfied,  and,  there- 
fore, that  mere  liberty  of  elections  will  not  secure  the 
end  we  seek.  The  same  may  be  said  with  regard  to 
liberty  of  the  press,  and  all  other  civil  rights ;  so 
that,  however  desirous  we  may  be  of  obtaining  various 
forms  of  freedom  and  civil  institutions,  we  shall 
deceive  ourselves  greatly,  if  we  suppose  that  they  can, 
by  themselves,  afford  a  remedy  to  social  ills.  Forms 
and  institutions  are  but  pledges  and  protections  against 
whatever  threatens  to  impede  the  progress  of  a  moral 
revolution;  and,  possibly,  they  may  be  a  means  also 
to  advance  it;  but  this  is  all  ;  a  moral  revolution  only 
can  cure  our  social  diseases.  I  say  that  the  exercise 
of  civil  right  may,  possibly,  be  a  means  of  advancing 
this  revolution,  because,  high  as  is  my  respect  for  the 
popular  mind,  I  yet  think  this  popular  mind,  this  com 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.     271 

mon  sense,  rather  fitted  to  recognize  truth  than  to 
discover  it;  of  all  the  great  truths  which  have  influ- 
enced the  destinies  of  the  human  race,  I  know  not 
one  which  originated  in  the  instinct  of  the  mass ; 
they  have  all  been  the  discoveries  of  gifted  individ- 
uals, and  the  fruit  of  the  solitary  meditations  of 
thinking  men.  But  once  brought  to  light,  once  ex- 
hibited, and  it  is  the  adoption  of  them  by  the  mass 
of  the  people,  which  consecrates  them. 

What  has  now  been  said  of  our  present  moral 
condition,  will  sufficiently  indicate  the  course  of  con- 
duct which  every  wise  and  earnest  man,  is,  in  our 
era,  bound  to  pursue,  in  view  of  his  own  dignity  and 
the  interests  of  his  country. 

And  first,  it  is  his  duty  to  be  calm,  to  raise  himself 
above,  and  to  escape  from  the  chimerical  dreams  to 
which  the  mass  of  men  are  the  prey ;  and  thus  be 
preserved  from  the  delusive  and  absurd  schemes  which 
are  their  natural  result.  To  attain  this  state  of  mind, 
it  is  only  necessary  to  comprehend  the  universal  law 
of  revolution,  and  the  precise  period  of  the  revolution 
now  passing,  at  which  we,  in  this  age,  have  arrived.  If, 
in  what  is  going  on  around  us,  we  accustom  ourselves 
to  see  the  successive  phases  of  a  grand  law  of  hu- 
manity in  the  process  of  development,  we  shall  be 
less  disposed  to  abandon  ourselves  to  the  passionate 
fears  and  hopes,  to  the  ardent  attachments  and  aver- 
sions, which  every  new  party  and  event,  however 
trifling,  will  otherwise  awaken.  It  is  only  when  we 
regard  them  from  this  elevation  that  we  can  judge 
of  their  real  importance.  When  we  take  a  compre- 
hensive view  of  the  mighty  revolution,  which,  for 


272  JOUFFROY. 

the  three  last  centuries,  has  been  agitating  Europe, 
and  consider  its  sources  and  tendencies ;  when  we 
measure  what  has  been  accomplished  with  what 
remains  yet  undone ;  when  we  call  to  mind  the 
slowness  with  which  it  has  thus  far  advanced,  and 
with  which  it  is  destined  to  advance  in  the  time  to 
come,  and  then  conceive  distinctly  of  the  true 
nature  of  this  revolution,  and  the  end  at  which  it 
aims ;  —  how  trifling  appear  many  events  called  im- 
portant !  How  momentous  others,  at  first  sight  small ! 
Each  object  then  assumes  its  just  dimensions,  and 
the  illusions  and  passions  which  had  confused  the 
view  are  scattered,  even  if  they  do  not  wholly  dis- 
appear. 

For  those  who  live  in  the  future,  and  who  are 
seeking,  from  government  and  the  laws,  a  good 
which  no  individuals  can  bestow,  —  that  unknown 
and  mysterious  something  which  the  future  veils, — 
that  ineffable  ideal,  the  desire  of  which  prompts  each 
social  movement,  arid  which,  for  myself,  I  call  a 
new  system  of  faith  on  the  grand  questions  which 
must  forever  interest  man,  —  for  all  such  persons, 
a  clear  understanding  of  the  nature  of  the  passing 
revolution,  and  of  the  precise  point  at  which  it  has 
now  arrived,  is  well  calculated  to  moderate  impatience. 
For,  when  we  once  comprehend  what  is  really  to  be 
accomplished,  we  see  that  it  cannot  be  done  in  a 
moment,  but  that  it  must  necessarily  be  the  frufa 
of  long  labor,  and  slowly  perfected  ;  and  that  it  is 
not  in  the  power  of  institutions  or  laws  to  hasten 
the  fulness  of  time.  Past  history  bears  witness  that 
such  a  revolution  must  be  gradual.  A  state  of  society 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.    273 

similar  to  our  own  prevailed  in  Greece  before  the 
introduction  of  Christianity,  and  was  brought  to  an 
end  by  that  event.  Skepticism  made  its  appear- 
ance in  Greece  six  centuries  at  least  before  the 
Christian  era  —  in  the  time  of  Thales;  individuals 
of  enlightened  minds  had  already  begun  to  entertain 
doubts  of  the  prevalent  faith;  and,  two  centuries 
later,  in  the  time  of  Socrates,  there  were  probably 
but  very  few  among  the  citizens  exercising  political 
lights,  who  were  not  wholly  given  up  to  incredulity. 
Socrates  was  condemned,  to  be  sure,  on  the  ground 
that  he  attacked  religion ;  but  his  sentence  was 
dictated  really  by  political  reasons;  and  we,  in  this 
day,  have  seen  a  parallel  instance,  in  a  neighboring 
country,  of  this  union  between  private  incredulity 
and  public  profession  of  faith.  If,  then,  the  ancient 
faith  in  Greece  was  destroyed  four  centuries  before 
the  coming  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  if  philosophy,  even 
at  that  early  period,  had  begun  to  seek  for  new  and 
higher  forms  of  truth,  it  is  plain  that  mankind  were 
kept  for  centuries  in  waiting  for  that  positive  faith 
which  could  alone  reorganize  it.  Yet  more ;  it  is 
well  known,  that  the  establishment  of  the  Christian 
religion,  in  the  minds  of  the  common  people,  did 
not  immediately  follow  its  first  introduction ;  it  pene- 
trated to  them  only  by  slow  degrees,  and  centuries 
were  needed  to  complete  its  progress.  When,  then, 
we  attempt  to  measure  the  time  needed  to  perfect 
and  finish  this  former  revolution,  we  find  that  the 
human  race  was  occupied  for  nearly  a  thousand  years 
in  their  passage  from  paganism  to  Christianity.  God 
forbid  that  I  should  assert  that  the  human  mind, 


274  JOUFFROY. 

with  the  immense  power  which  it  has  acquired  in 
the  course  of  eighteen  centuries,  will  require  so  long 
a  period  as  this  to  finish  the  work  which  it  has 
begun  in  our  day ;  and  far  be  it  from  me  to  think 
that  the  revolution  now  in  progress  is  to  lead  to 
any  such  complete  change  of  opinion.  Christianity 
has  too  strong  a  foundation  in  truth  ever  to  disappear, 
as  paganism  did;  its  destruction  was  but  a  dream 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  which  never  will  be  realized 
But,  undoubtedly,  it  is  to  be  purified ;  undoubtedly, 
it  is  to  receive  new  forms  and  important  additions  ; 
for,  otherwise,  the  strife  it  has  excited,  the  incre 
dulity  which  yet  prevails,  and  the  long  struggles  and 
labors  of  the  whole  of  Christendom,  have  been  without 
a  meaning  and  a  cause ;  and  this  it  is  impossible 
to  believe.  As  yet,  when  we  view  it  rightly,  this 
revolution  has  been  but  three  centuries  in  progress ; 
and  we  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  imagine  that 
by  to-morrow  we  shall  reach  its  end  ;  neither  should 
it  astonish  us,  since  the  first  period  of  this  revolution 
has  so  lately  terminated,  that  we  have  now  arrived 
at  only  its  second  period.  Many  generations  may 
very  possibly  pass  away  before  the  faith  of  futurity 
will  assume  a  definite  shape,  and  be  planted  deep 
in  the  hearts  of  the  multitude,  to  bless  them  with 
the  Credo  for  which  they  now  sigh  in  vain.  And, 
during  the  intervening  period,  the  world  may  remain, 
as  in  ancient  times,  a  prey  to  that  state  of  intellectual 
and  moral  anarchy  which  we  have  described,  and 
which  nothing  but  the  manifestation  of  some  new 
form  of  faith  can  remove.  It  was  Christianity  that 
cured  this  evil  in  ancient  times ;  and  it  worked  a 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.    275 

moral  cure  before  it  did  a  material  one.  The  moral 
remedy  was  the  principle,  of  which  the  material  was 
the  consequence.  Our  cure  must  proceed  in  a  like 
manner;  first,  truth,  and  then  social  reformation,  as 
the  effect  of  truth.  Such  is  the  law  of  revolution. 
At  present,  there  is  hardly  the  faint  appearance  and 
first  dawning  of  new  solutions  of  the  great  questions 
of  human  interest.  And  it  is  plain,  therefore,  that 
we  are,  as  yet,  far  distant  from  the  last  period  and 
final  completion  of  this  revolution.  The  journals, 
which  day  by  day  announce  a  new  order  of  things, 
give  no  description  of  this  better  state.  They  say, 
and  say  truly,  that  the  present  order  does  not  meet 
our  wants ;  but  they  do  not  tell  us  what  should  supply 
its  place.  This,  indeed,  is  precisely  what  they  are 
incapable  of  doing ;  for  they,  like  the  people,  feel 
only  the  want  of  truths  which  are  yet  undiscovered, 
and  they,  like  the  people,  too,  are  ignorant  of  them. 
They  would  be  nearer  the  truth,  if  they  did  but  know 
that  they  were  ignorant  of  it ;  and  they  would  be 
nearer  still,  if  they  comprehended  that  as  yet  it  can- 
not be  known. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  means  by  which  we  may 
preserve  a  calm  mind,  in  this  feverish  and  agitated 
era.  But  we  must  do  more  than  this;  we  must  not 
only  preserve  the  mind  calm,  we  must  direct  it.  And, 
in  this  regard,  how  can  we  do  better  than  imitate 
the  example  of  those  men,  who,  in  an  age  similar 
to  our  own,  —  the  age  which  followed  the  overthrow 
of  the  ancient  faith,  —  so  lived,  that  their  names  have 
been  reverenced  through  succeeding  times  ?  These 


276  JOUFFROY. 

men,  who  were  the  Stoics,  announced,  in  the  midst 
of  universal  anarchy  and  corruption,  the  imperisha- 
ble principles  of  morality  ;  established  rules  for  pri- 
vate duty,  when  all  public  law  was  broken  down ; 
and,  sheltering  themselves  in  virtue,  passed,  untainted, 
through  the  most  polluted  era  that  history  records. 
We  need  but  mention  the  names  of  Marcus  Aurelius, 
Epictetus,  and  their  illustrious  friends,  to  show  that 
it  is  in  the  power  of  individuals  to  preserve  their 
characters  and  conduct  pure,  amidst  the  ruins  of  even 
the  corruptest  ages.  We,  then,  certainly  can  do  it,  — 
we,  who  live  in  an  age  so  much  more  elevated  in  char- 
acter, under  the  light  of  Christianity,  and  of  a  phi- 
losophy purified  by  its  power.  It  is  entirely  possible 
for  any  individual,  who  will  seek  seriously  to  distin- 
guish good  from  evil,  to  keep  his  mind  and  con- 
science clear  from  the  swarm  of  absurd  and  immoral 
notions  which  an  incredible  license  of  thought,  yet 
more  than  of  feeling,  lets  loose  each  day  upon  soci- 
ciety,  from  the  journals,  the  theatre,  and  books. 
There  is  no  one,  who  cannot,  by  consulting  good 
sense  and  his  own  heart,  plan  out,  for  himself,  a 
course  of  conduct  conformable  to  the  purest  maxims 
of  morality,  and,  by  firm  purpose,  remain  faithful 
to  it,  and  realize  his  ideal.  This  is  possible  for  us, 
one  and  all ;  and  what  we  can  do,  we  ought  to 
do.  No  one  is  excusable  for  not  preserving,  invio- 
late, his  character  and  reason,  in  a  period  like  the 
present ;  for,  although  there  are,  in  our  social  con- 
dition, circumstances  which  may  be  temptations  to 
those  who  will  allow  themselves  to  be  led  astray 


THE  SKEPTICISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  AGE.     277 

and  corrupted,  yet  it  is  to  prepare  us  for  precisely 
such  situations,  that  God  has  endowed  us  with  judg- 
ment and  with  will. 

And  our  country,  gentlemen, — our  country,  which, 
next  to  integrity  and  honor,  should  be  the  first  object 
of  regard,  —  is  there  not,  in  our  time,  as  in  all  times, 
a  way  of  being  useful  to  her?  There  is;  it  is  to  make 
her  true  situation,  and  the  causes  of  it,  known  to  all 
her  children ;  to  explain  to  them  the  secret  of  their 
wants,  the  nature  of  the  good  which  all  are  craving, 
and  the  means  best  adapted  to  its  acquisition.  This, 
in  my  judgment,  is  the  only  possible  way  of  keeping 
society  calm  and  well  ordered,  when  society  is  with- 
out a  faith.  We  must,  then,  enlighten  as  much  as 
we  can  the  great  body  of  the  people :  never  was 
light  so  necessary,  never  did  they  need  discernment 
more.  When  society  is  under  the  influence  of  an 
established  faith,  the  catechism  neutralizes  the  effects 
of  ignorance.  But  when  minds  without  convictions 
are  left  an  undefended  prey  to  all  ideas,  good  and 
bad,  useful  and  injurious,  as  they  may  arise,  there 
is  but  one  source  of  safety,  and  that  is,  the  diffu- 
sion of  such  a  degree  of  information  as  may  enable 
each  citizen  to  discern  his  own  true  interest,  and 
the  actual  condition  of  his  country.  All,  of  our 
day,  who  understand  the  times,  have  a  mission  of 
patriotism  to  discharge ;  it  is  to  communicate  to 
others  their  own  information,  and  thus  aid  in  calming 
down  the  moral  conflicts  of  the  public  mind,  as  they 
have  calmed  their  own.  To  one  who  really  compre- 
hends the  present  state  of  things,  there  is  no  cause 
for  fear.  And  once  free  from  fear,  we  can  meditate, 

VOL.     I  Y 


278  JOUFFROY. 

we  can  plan  our  course,  we  can  work,  we  can  live. 
But  when  we  rise  each  morning,  in  the  dread  of 
ruin,  with  the  feeling  that  we  are  on  the  verge  of  some 
terrible  catastrophe,  thought  becomes  impossible;  we 
can  but  abandon  ourselves  to  the  current  of  events, 
and  there  is  an  end  at  once  to  labor  and  reflection, 
to  all  plans  for  life,  and  all  developments  of  char- 
acter ;  like  leaves,  we  become  the  sport  of  each  pass- 
ing breeze. 

And  now,  after  what  I  have  said  in  this  lecture 
of  the  fruitlessness  of  mere  outward  and  material 
revolutions,  —  after  the  proof  I  have  offered  that  they 
never  can  advance  society  towards  the  good  which  it 
is  seeking,  but  that  they  produce  always  disorder  and 
suffering,  —  need  I  add,  that  it  is  the  duty  of  every 
enlightened  man  and  good  citizen  to  prevent,  if 
possible,  such  useless  evil.  Once  more  I  repeat, 
therefore,  that  when  it  is  the  object  of  outward  revolu- 
tion to  realize  and  complete  a  moral  revolution,  then, 
and  then  only,  revolution  is  both  reasonable  and  right. 
But  when  a  conviction  of  the  need  of  a  moral  organ- 
ization for  society,  so  far  from  being  generally  estab- 
lished in  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  community,  is 
not  even  apprehended  by  those  who  profess  to  be 
the  heralds  of  civilization, —  in  such  a  case,  revolution 
can  only  bring  uncompensated  suffering;  and  every 
friend  of  his  country  should  withhold  his  aid.  In 
speaking  to  you  thus,  gentlemen,  I  am  not  preaching  a 
sermon.  I  do  but  simply  unfold  to  your  view  the 
necessary  consequence  of  the  great  law  of  revolution, 
to  which  humanity  is  subject.  My  frankness  arid  free- 
dom will  not,  I  am  confident,  be  misunderstood. 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  HOBBES.  279 


LECTURE    XI. 

SYSTEMS  WHICH  MISCONCEIVE  AND  MUTILATE  THE  LAW 
OF  OBLIGATION. 

THE  SELFISH  SYSTEM. HOBBES. 

GENTLEMEN, 

THE  systems  which  we  have  thus  far  exam- 
ined make  no  attempt  to  determine  whether  there 
is,  or  is  not,  any  law  of  obligation.  This  question, 
indeed,  never  presented  itself  to  the  minds  of  their 
authors.  They  were  occupied  in  considering  quite 
different  ones  ;  and  it  was  only  in  an  incidental  way, 
while  discussing  questions  wholly  foreign  in  appear- 
ance from  the  fundamental  one  of  ethics,  that  they 
were  led,  actually,  to  deny  the  existence  of  the  law 
of  obligation  in  human  nature. 

But  we  come,  now,  to  another  class  of  systems, 
which  are  essentially  ethical  systems,  and  which 
come  to  this  same  result,  of  denying  the  existence 
of  the  law  of  obligation,  by  an  actual  examination 
of  the  questions  whether  there  does  exist  in  our 
nature  any,  and,  if  any,  what  rule  for  conduct  ?  They 
do  not  all,  however,  reach  this  common  conclusion 
in  the  same  way.  Seeking  in  the  human  mind  for 
he  original  principle  of  morality  and  right,  on  which 


280  JOUFFROY. 

all  ethics  and  legislation  must  be  based,  some  of  these 
systems  go  wholly  astray,  and  believe  that  they  find  it 
either  in  self-love,  or  in  some  of  our  primitive  ten- 
dencies ;  while  others,  feeling  that  it  must,  in  its 
nature,  be  impersonal  and  disinterested,  place  it  in 
a  conception  of  the  reason,  indeed,  where  truly  it  is 
to  be  found ;  but,  mistaking  the  character  of  this  con- 
ception, they  fall  into  various  errors.  We  might, 
with  good  reason,  divide  these  systems,  then,  into  two 
categories ;  the  first  embracing  those  which  destroy 
the  law  of  obligation,  by  wholly  misconceiving  its  essen- 
tial nature ;  and  the  second  those  which  produce  the 
same  result,  by  the  false  view  which  they  give  of  this 
nature.  But  I  shall  not,  at  present,  insist  upon  this 
distinction,  for  it  is  not  in  itself  a  very  important 
one;  and  it  is  difficult,  in  express  terms,  to  describe 
it,  so  equivocal  is  all  philosophical  language.  It 
will  be  easier  to  make  this  distinction  manifest,  after 
a  discussion  of  these  systems. 

The  first  of  these  systems  which  I  shall  present 
to  you  —  and  it  deserves  this  preference  on  account 
of  its  celebrity  —  is  the  system  of  self-interest,  of 
which,  in  modern  times,  Hobbes  has  been  the  most 
famous  teacher.  This  and  the  following  lecture  will 
be  devoted  to  a  criticism  of  the  principles  and  theory 
of  this  philosopher. 

It  continually  happens,  gentlemen,  that  we  perform 
acts,  because  we  see  that  they  will  be  followed  by  a 
pleasure;  and,  again,  we  continually  pursue  objects, 
because  we  know  that  the  possession  of  them  will 
give  gratification.  On  the  other  hand,  we  often  re- 
fuse to  perform  acts,  or  avoid  objects,  because  we 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES  281 

think  that  such  performance  or  possession  wi  1  be 
a  source  of  pain.  This  motive  to  choice  is  one, 
then,  which  is  familiar  to  us  all ;  and  every  day's 
experience  must  exhibit  its  operation  to  even  the 
most  careless  observer.  Now,  Hobbes  declares  that 
this  is  the  sole  motive  of  human  choice.  He  asserts 
that  the  end  of  every  action  is  the  pursuit  of  pleasure, 
or  the  escape  from  pain ;  and,  generalizing  his  ob- 
servation, he  thus  expresses  the  formula  which  is  the 
principle  of  his  system  —  well-being  is  the  end  of  man. 

Observe,  gentlemen,  Hobbes  uses  the  expression 
well-being,  not  good.  In  fact,  the  general  term  which 
represents  an  agreeable  state  is  not  good,  but  well- 
being,  or,  if  you  please,  happiness.  If  Hobbes  had 
said  happiness  is  the  end  of  man,  he  would  perfectly 
have  expressed  his  idea ;  and  he  equally  expresses 
it  in  the  language  which  he  has  adopted  —  well-being 
is  the  end  of  man.  But  he  would  have  done  injustice 
to  his  thoughts,  had  he  said  good  is  the  end  of  man ; 
for  the  word  good  suggests  to  all  minds  —  even  to 
those  most  preoccupied  with  the  conviction  that  the 
end  of  all  our  actions  is  happiness  —  some  ideas 
quite  different  from  those  of  enjoyment  and  pleasure. 
The  expression  of  Hobbes  is,  then,  the  most  strictly 
exact  which  he  could  employ  to  convey  his  idea. 

If  the  end  of  every  act  is  pleasure,  it  follows 
necessarily  that  the  universal  motive  of  every  act  is 
the  desire  of  pleasure.  For  the  same  reason,  then, 
that  Hobbes  has  said  that  the  final  end  of  every 
act  is  well-being,  he  should  have  said  that  the  uni- 
versal motive  of  human  condqct  js  the  desire  of 
well-being. 

Y2 


282  JOUFFROY. 

Thus,  then,  to  express  the  whole  system  of  Hobbes 
in  brief,  we  may  say,  well-being  is  the  end  of  every 
action,  and  the  love  of  well-being  the  universal  motive 
of  human  conduct.  This  is  the  actual  theory,  which 
he  adopts  and  professes,  as  to  the  law  of  human 
volition. 

His  principle  once  established,  Hobbes  proceeds, 
with  the  strict  logic  for  which  he  is  justly  celebrated, 
to  deduce  from  it  a  series  of  consequences.  These 
I  will  now  exhibit.  There  are  two  classes  of  these 
consequences  —  the  first,  metaphysical  and  direct;  the 
second,  remote,  and  extending  to  ethics  and  politics. 

If  it  is  true,  gentlemen,  that  the  sole  reason  which 
can  determine  a  man  to  perform  any  act,  or  seek 
any  object,  is  the  pleasure  attending  the  accomplish- 
ment of  the  one,  and  the  possession  of  the  other, 
it  follows  necessarily,  that  the  condition  requisite 
for  any  act  of  will  is  the  anticipation  of  that  pleasure. 
This  universal  motive,  as  Hobbes  considers  it,  of 
human  action,  then,  cannot  impel  us,  without  a  con- 
ception, recognized  by  reason,  of  the  consequences 
which  will  accompany  the  act,  and  the  attainment 
of  the  -  object.  This  condition  being  fulfilled,  we 
can  act ;  otherwise,  we  cannot. 

A  second  direct  consequence  of  the  principle  is, 
that  all  objects  and  acts  are  matters  of  indifference 
to  us,  except  in  so  far  as  we  conceive  of  them  as 
producing  certain  effects  upon  ourselves ;  for,  in  what, 
according  to  the  system  of  Hobbes,  does  all  the  good 
or  evil  of  acts  or  objects  consist?  Solely  in  their 
fitness  to  produce  pleasure  or  pain.  We  must  be 
acquainted,  then,  with  their  fitness  or  unfitness  to 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  283 

produce  pleasure,  before  we  can  determine  their  moral 
quality ;  and  the  only  moral  quality  which  we  can  ever 
discover  in  them  is  this  property  of  producing  pain  or 
pleasure. 

If  this  is  true,  that  the  only  ground  on  which  we  can 
desire  or  dislike,  seek  or  avoid  certain  acts  or  objects, 
is,  that  they  appear  to  us  fitted  to  produce  pleasurable 
or  painful  consequences,  then  it  follows,  in  the  third 
place,  that  we  have  not  a  variety  of  passions,  as  is  usu- 
ally supposed,  but  a  single  passion  only,  which  is  the 
love  of  personal  well-being,  of  our  own  pleasure,  our 
individual  happiness.  The  passions,  therefore,  numer- 
ous and  various  as  they  appear,  are  so  only  externally  — 
only  in  relation  to  the  material  objects  affecting  them : 
within  us  these  different  passions  are  found  to  be,  and 
can  only  be,  transformations  of  one  single  passion ;  and 
that  is  the  love  and  desire  of  personal  well-being. 
Hobbes  did  not  hesitate  to  resolve  all  human  passions 
into  this  single  one ;  and  he  was  led,  therefore,  to  give 
such  definitions  and  explanations  of  these  passions  as 
seem  strange  enough  ;  but  they  are,  nevertheless,  the 
only  ones  which  he  consistently  could  give. 

For  example,  the  human  heart  has  an  instinctive  im- 
pulse to  reverence  God;  and  an  emotion  of  the  same  na- 
ture is  felt  towards  certain  men.  Now,  what,  according 
to  Hobbes,  is  reverence  1  It  is  a  conception  of  the 
superior  power  of  the  person  whom  we  honor.  Again,  a 
wholly  opposite  sentiment  is  awakened  in  us  by  another 
class  of  persons  —  the  sentiment  of  the  ridiculous. 
How  does  Hobbes  explain  this  ?  It  is  a  conception,  he 
siys,  of  our  own  superiority  to  the  person  we  laugh  at. 
Once  more  ;  we  see,  at  each  moment,  and  under  a  thou- 


284  JOUFFROY. 

sand  forms,  the  sentiment  of  love  manifested  in  all 
social  relations,  in  the  mother  towards  her  child,  in  the 
child  towards  its  mother,  in  the  lover  towards  his  mis- 
tress, and  in  friend  towards  friend.  What  is  love,  ac- 
cording to  Hobbes?  It  is  a  conception  of  the  utility 
of  the  loved  person.  Thus,  the  mute  adoration  of  a 
mother,  hanging  over  the  cradle  of  her  child,  is  only  a 
foresight  of  the  service  which  that  child  may,  at  some 
future  day,  render.  What  is  pity  ?  It  is  the  imagi- 
nation of  a  misfortune  which  may  one  day  happen 
to  ourselves,  as  we  contemplate  the  misery  of  another. 
Benevolence,  kindness,  charity,  what  are  they  ?  They 
are  all  but  manifestations  of  the  consciousness  of 
power,  sufficient  to  produce  happiness,  not  only  for 
ourselves,  but  also  for  others.  You  can  judge  from 
these  examples  of  the  rigorous  logic  with  which  Hobbes 
traces  back  all  our  passions,  even  those  apparently  the 
most  disinterested  and  remote  from  any  pursuit  of 
individual  good,  to  self-love.  And  thus  he  was  obliged 
to  do  ;  for  had  he  but  once  admitted  the  existence  of 
any  other  sentiment  in  our  nature  than  the  love  of  our 
own  well-being,  his  whole  system  would  have  been 
overthrown. 

What,  according  to  this  system,  is  the  first  and  great- 
est good  ?  Assuredly  the  preservation  of  the  individ- 
ual. For  the  indispensable  condition  for  happiness  is 
existence ;  if  life  is  lost,  all  enjoyment  becomes,  of 
course,  impossible.  The  greatest  of  all  evils,  then,  is 
death.  What  we  are  to  seek  above  all  things,  in  pur- 
suit of  our  highest  well-being,  is  self-preservation; 
what  we  are  most  earnestly  to  shun  is  destruction. 

All    such  consequences  as  these   are  the  necessary 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  235 

results  of  the  system  adopted  by  Hobbes.  But  thus  far 
they  are  only  theoretical.  Let  us  pass  on  to  others, 
which  bear  directly  upon  the  conduct  and  practice  of 
life. 

Admit  that  man  is  constituted  as  Hobbes  supposes; 
place  with  him  the  principle  of  all  choice  in  the  love 
of  happiness,  and  grant  that  human  conduct,  profoundly 
analyzed,  confirms  this  view,  —  what  follows?  Necessa- 
rily, inevitably  it  follows,  that  all  means,  which  can 
conduce  to  this  simple  and  only  true  end  of  man,  must 
be  good  and  lawful ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  man  has  a 
right  to  appropriate,  by  every  means  in  his  power, 
whatever  will  contribute  to  his  own  well-being.  The 
course  of  conduct  truly  proper  and  rational  is  deter- 
mined, then,  by  this  consideration,  that  it  leads  to  indi- 
vidual happiness.  All  acts,  all  conduct,  which  conduce 
to  this,  are,  for  that  very  reason,  good,  proper,  lawful. 
The  right  to  do  any  thing  and  every  thing,  which  can 
increase  our  well-being,  is,  then,  according  to  Hobbes, 
imprescriptible.  And  this  right  is  the  foundation  of 
ethics.  He  says  this  with  reason  ;  for  by  ethics  is 
meant,  in  every  Language,  precisely  the  ideal  of  that 
course  of  conduct  which  is  good,  proper,  and  conform- 
able to  reason. 

Now,  well-being  is  an  individual  thing  ;  if,  therefore, 
the  desire  of  well-being  is  the  sole  source  of  all  volitions, 
as  it  cannot  be  the  well-being  of  another  that  I  desire,! 
must  be  impelled  by  a  desire  for  my  own.  Every  one 
has  his  own  view  of  well-being,  and  of  pleasure ;  every 
one  determines  for  himself  what  are  the  means  fitted  to 
attain  it ;  constitutions  are  unlike;  tastes  differ,  each 
has  his  own  estimate  of  happiness,  and  of  the  proper 


286  JOUFFROY. 

way  to  gain  it :  the  only  judge,  therefore,  of  what  is 
good  as  an  end,  or  good  as  a  means,  must  be  the  indi- 
vidual himself.  There  can  be  no  other.  Whence  it 
follows,  that  ends  and  means  become  good  by  the  mere 
fact  that  they  are  considered  to  be  so  by  the  individual. 
There  may  be,  therefore,  as  many  modes  of  right  con- 
duct as  there  are  persons,  because  every  one  may  have 
his  own  way  of  conceiving  of  happiness  and  of  the 
modes  of  attaining  it,  and  all  modes  are  in  themselves 
equally  good.  There  cannot  be  one  system  of  ethics, 
then;  but  there  must  be  as  many  systems  as  there  are 
individuals.  And  thus  two  courses  of  conduct,  the 
most  different  and  opposite,  may  be  equally  proper :  for, 
to  make  them  so,  it  is  only  necessary  that  they  should 
be  considered  by  the  individual  as  conducive  to  his 
well-being.  The  individual  is  supreme ;  his  judgment 
is  sovereign;  he  creates  right  and  wrong;  by  his  own 
choice  he  produces  good,  and  at  his  will  destroys  it. 

Such  are  the  consequences  of  Hobbes's  system  in 
relation  to  individual  conduct.  Let  us  turn  now  to 
its  political  consequences.  He  has  deduced  them 
from  his  main  principle  with  equal  strictness  of  reason- 
ing. If  every  one  has  a  right  of  deciding  for  himself 
upon  whatever  is  necessary  to  the  attainment  of  his 
best  good,  and  if  no  other  person  has  a  right  to  pass 
judgment,  either  upon  the  end  or  means  which  he 
selects,  it  follows,  necessarily,  that  each  individual  has 
a  right  to  the  possession  of  all  things.  For  can  we 
conceive  of  any  thing  which  may  not  be  included  in  the 
idea  of  individual  good,  either  as  an  end  or  a  means  ? 
The  individual,  then,  has  a  right  to  every  thing.  Arid, 
therefore,  in  a  state  of  nature,  the  right  of  each  indi- 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  287 

vidual  extends,  without  exception,  to  all  things  which 
exist. 

But  if  each  has  this  rightful  claim  to  all  things, 
there  must  be  a  collision  and  conflict  of  rights.  If  I 
desire  the  possession  of  a  certain  object  as  necessary  to 
my  well-being,  my  neighbor  may  consider  it  necessary 
to  his,  and  may  look  upon  my  act  of  taking  possession 
as  injurious  to  him.  Hence  inevitable  contests.  The 
right  of  each  individual  to  the  possession  of  any  and 
every  object  produces,  necessarily,  therefore,  a  strife 
between  one  and  all ;  it  sets  every  individual  at  war 
with  all  others.  It  follows  as  a  necessary  consequence, 
then,  from  Hobbes's  system,  that  the  natural  condition 
of  individuals  is  one  of  conflict.  Hence  his  celebrated 
axiom,  "  War  is  the  state  of  nature;"  and  this  not  an 
accidental  nor  partial  war,  but  a  war  unceasing  and 
universal  of  every  man  with  every  other  man. 

Now,  to  one  who  regards  happiness  as  the  greatest 
good,  nothing  can  be  worse,  as  Hobbes  has  clearly 
seen,  than  such  a  state  of  war.  For  what,  according 
to  his  theory,  is  good  ?  It  is  every  thing  that  tends  to 
produce  happiness.  What,  then,  can  be  worse  than  a 
state,  the  characteristic  of  which  is,  that  each  indi- 
vidual is  continually  exposed  to  attack  from  the  united 
forces  of  all  other  individuals  ?  Evidently,  in  such  a 
state  of  things,  the  individual  must,  sooner  or  later,  be 
destroyed,  and  thus,  in  consequence,  entirely  hindered 
from  obtaining  happiness.  No  other  state  can  so 
completely  prevent  all  possibility  of  well-being ;  no 
other  state  can  threaten  so  continually  the  existence  of 
the  individual ;  and  this,  be  it  remembered,  is  the 
/  greatest  good  of  all,  because  it  is  the  necessary  condi- 


288  JOUFFROY. 

tiou  of  every  other.  The  state  of  war  is,  then,  the 
worst  possible,  if  Hobbes's  system  is  true ;  and  yet  it  is 
the  state  of  nature.  Hence  his  bold  conclusion  that 
peace  at  any  cost,  peace  on  any  conditions,  is  prefer- 
able to  this  state  of  nature,  this  state  of  war.  But 
peace  is  the  effect  of  society ;  it  is  society  alone  that 
can  establish  it,  and  destroy  that  state  of  war,  which  is 
man's  natural  and  primitive  condition. 

What,  then,  according  to  Hobbes,  is  society  ?  The 
nature  of  society  is  determined  wholly  by  its  constitu- 
ent element,  and  this  element  is  the  existence  of  a 
power  sufficient  to  prevent,  among  a  number  of  collected 
individuals,  the  natural  state  of  war. 

Such  is  the  exact  definition  of  society,  according  to 
Hobbes.  He  finds  in  it  nothing  more.  What,  then, 
is  the  end  of  society  1  The  repression  of  the  state  of 
war.  What  is  the  original  cause  of  the  formation  of 
society  ?  The  misery  of  the  natural  state.  Hobbes  is 
ready  to  admit,  however,  that  there  are  two  possible 
ways  in  which  society  may  originate.  The  first  is  by 
contract;  and  such  a  contract  is  made  whenever  dif- 
ferent individuals,  feeling  the  inconveniences  of  the 
state  of  nature,  and  condemning  it  as  the  worst  of  all 
conditions,  agree  to  establish  a  force,  which  shall  be 
superior  to  that  of  any  individual,  and  capable  of  de- 
stroying him,  if  necessary,  in  suppressing  war  and  sub- 
stituting for  it  peace.  Society,  thus  formed,  originates 
in  contract.  But  there  is  another  mode  of  forming 
society.  A  single  man  may,  by  cunning  or  power,  suc- 
ceed in  extending  his  authority  over  a  multitude  of 
others,  and  thus  establish  a  social  state.  Here  society 
is  based  on  the  right  of  the  strongest ;  but  it  is  none 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  289 

the  worse  on  that  account,  because,  according  to 
Hobbes,  the  only  characteristic  of  society  is  the  exist- 
ence of  a  power  sufficiently  strong  to  repress  war  be- 
tween individuals ;  this  being  done,  society  exists ;  and, 
since  the  right  of  the  strongest  can  produce  this  result 
as  well  as  contract,  society  can  originate  in  one  way 
as  well  as  the  other ;  and  one  is  as  legitimate  an  origin 
as  the  other,  according  to  Hobbes.  For  what  consti- 
tutes legitimacy,  in  his  view  ?  Whatever  conduces  to 
the  highest  good,  that  is  the  greatest  happiness  of  each 
individual.  Now,  it  has  been  proved  that  the  state  of 
nature,  or  of  war,  is  the  worst  possible  for  the  individ- 
ual, and  the  state  of  society  the  best.  Provided,  then, 
that  society  exists,  —  no  matter  how  it  originated,  —  it 
is  legitimate.  Society,  founded  upon  conquest,  or  the 
right  of  the  strongest,  is  as  legitimate  and  conformable 
to  reason,  as  society  based  upon  contract ;  for  one 
attains,  as  well  as  the  other,  the  end  proposed  for  soci- 
ety ;  and  it  is  the  end,  and  the  end  alone,  that  deter- 
mines its  legitimacy. 

What,  now,  is  the  best  form  of  society,  or,  as  it 
amounts  to  the  same  thing,  the  best  among  the  various 
kinds  of  power  by  which  society  can  be  constituted  1 
Hobbes  does  not  hesitate  to  answer,  the  strongest.  And 
which  is  the  strongest?  It  is  that  in  which  power  is 
concentpated  in  a  single  hand,  or  the  monarchical 
form  :  the  monarchical,  therefore,  is.  the  most  perfect 
form  of  government.  But,  of  different  modes  of  mon- 
archy, which  is  the  best?  Again  he  answers,  the 
strongest.  And  which  is  the  strongest?  Absolute 
monarchy.  This,  then,  is  the  best  of  all  forms  for 

VOL.    I.  Z 


290  JOUFFROY. 

society  ;  and  this  is  a  strict  and  necessary  conclusion 
from  the  whole  system. 

Under  whatever  form,  and  upon  whatever  foundation 
government  may  rest,  its  rights  and  duties,  or,  in  other 
words,  the  acts  which  it  may,  and  which  it  may  not,  do 
to  the  members  of  society,  remain  always  the  same. 
As  its  mission  is  to  overcome  the  resistance  of  individ- 
uals ;  as  it  can  maintain  the  state  of  peace  only  by 
subduing  war;  and  as  war  originates  in  the  exercise  of 
individual  power,  —  it  follows  that  the  right  and  duty  of 
every  government  is  to  repress  and  destroy  the  power 
of  each  individual,  by  all  possible  means.  Conse- 
quently, government,  whatever  may  have  been  its  form 
and  origin,  has  an  unlimited  right  of  action.  What- 
ever it  chooses  to  do  is,  for  that  very  reason,  right;  for 
its  authority  can  be  limited  only  by  the  increase  of 
individual  power ;  that  is  to  say,  by  introducing  the 
state  of  war,  thus  sacrificing  peace.  Limitations  to 
its  authority  are,  therefore,  contrary  to  the  very  end 
of  its  existence,  and  to  the  end  of  society  ;  and  by 
permitting  such  limitations,  it  falls  short  of  the  ideal 
type,  which  every  government  should  approach  as 
nearly  as  is  possible. 

What,  now,  are  the  duties  and  rights  of  subjects  in 
relation  to  a  government,  supposing  this  to  be  the  true 
conception  of  government?  Rights  they  have  none; 
and  their  duties  are  all  comprehended  in  the  single 
one  of  obedience,  under  all  circumstances,  to  whatever 
government  may  command  ;  for  any  disobedience  to 
established  power  tends  to  reawaken  the  struggle  for 
individual  power ;  and  this  is  a  return  to  that  state  of 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  291 

war,  which  is  the  worst  possible,  and,  consequently, 
the  least  legitimate  of  all  states.  Hence,  as  you  may 
see,  it  follows  necessarily,  that  it  is  the  duty  of  the 
subject  to  obey,  and  that  he  has  no  right  of  resist- 
ance, whatever,  against  any  thing  that  government 
ordains. 

The  only  possible  error,  which  government  can 
commit,  is  the  performance  of  acts  tending  to  weaken 
or  overthrow  its  power.  But  even  when  it  does  pursue 
false  measures,  subjects  are  still  bound  to  respect  it, 
and  submit  to  it.  For  what  makes  any  measure  a 
false  one?  The  fact  that  it  tends  to  lessen  the 
authority  of  the  government.  Disobedience  would 
but  increase  the  evil.  The  error  of  government  can 
never  justify,  therefore,  the  disobedience  of  the  sub- 
ject. Subjects  can  in  no  case  whatsoever,  then, 
have  rights  against  the  government ;  for  any  right 
of  resistance,  even  against  injudicious  measures,  would 
be  a  return  to  that  natural  state  of  war,  which  is  the 
worst  state  of  all. 

Such  is  the  political  system  of  Hobbes.  It  is, 
as  you  see,  a  necessary  result  of  his  ethical  system, 
which  is  itself  deduced,  by  strict  reasoning,  from  his 
leading  doctrine  as  to  the  end  of  man,  and  the  single 
motive  for  all  human  action.  With  the  exception 
of  a  few  inconsistencies,  to  be  noticed  hereafter,  the 
deduction  is  perfectly  strict. 

Thus  briefly  have  I  set  before  you  the  celebrated 
system  of  Hobbes;  and  the  exposition  has  been,  I 
trust,  clear,  exact,  and  complete.  It  now  remains  for 
us  to  see  how  far  this  doctrine  is  a  true  one,  and, 


292  JOUFFROY. 

if  it  errs,  to  determine  the  nature  of  the  error  on 
which  it  is  based. 

In  the  present  lecture,  I  shall  not  communicate  all 
the  remarks  which  the  system  might  suggest,  but 
shall  limit  myself  to  an  examination  of  the  representa- 
tion which  it  gives  of  the  phenomenon  of  human 
volitions.  And,  in  comparing  this  system  with  our 
own  consciousness,  I  shall  endeavor  to  show  in  what 
particulars  it  is  inexact,  incomplete,  and,  consequently, 
false.  It  is  in  its  fundamental  principle,  then,  that 
I  shall  examine  the  system  of  Hobbes ;  for,  if  this 
principle  is  true,  we  cannot  refuse  to  admit  all  the 
consequences  resulting  from  it. 

By  our  analysis  of  the  various  modes  of  human 
volition,  we  have  been  led  to  the  conclusion,  that 
man  is  impelled  to  action  in  three  different  ways; 
that  is  to  say,  by  three  classes  of  motives.  I  have 
described  these  classes,  and  have  shown  you  how  each 
of  these  motives  influences  volition  in  a  distinct  and 
peculiar  manner. 

Of  these  three  sources  of  volition,  which  observa- 
tion has  proved  really  to  be  active  in  the  human  soul, 
you  see,  at  a  glance,  that  Hobbes  has  overlooked  or 
misunderstood  two.  This  deficiency  of  exact  analysis 
is  important  in  itself,  and  yet  more  so  in  its  conse- 
quences. As,  instead  of  recognizing  three  distinct 
classes  of  motives,  which  determine,  human  conduct, 
Hobbes  admits  only  one,  he  inevitably  arrives,  by 
setting  out  from  these  false  premises,  at  such  conse- 
quences as  contradict  and  overthrow  all  the  ideas 
and  beliefs  which  common  experience  has  introduced 
into  the  minds  of  men. 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  293 

And  first,  gentlemen,  Hobbes  has  confounded  the 
selfish  motive,  which  he  admits,  with  the  motive  of 
impulse  and  passion,  which  is  always  its  predecessor, 
and  perfectly  distinct  from  it.  In  truth,  the  primi- 
tive tendencies  of  nature  have  not  the  same  end  with 
self-interest  well  understood,  as  conceived  by  reason. 
The  peculiar  arid  final  end  of  each  instinctive  ten- 
dency is  the  particular  object  which  it  seeks.  Thus, 
from  the  fact  that  I  am  an  intelligent  being,  the 
desire  of  knowledge  springs  up  within  me ;  and  this 
desire,  in  itself,  impels  me  to  learn,  without  the  need 
of  any  calculation,  by  reason,  of  the  consequences 
of  this  knowledge,  or  any  foresight  that  its  acquisi- 
tion will  give  pleasure.  This  may  be  plainly  seen 
among  children,  who  have  great  curiosity,  but  certainly 
not  from  any  calculation  of  its  consequence ;  and 
mature  men,  although,  in  many  instances,  they  do, 
undoubtedly,  calculate,  reason,  and  examine,  before 
they  act,  yet  far  more  frequently  they  follow  the 
immediate  impulse,  and  pursue  the  object  exciting 
the  desire,  without  a  thought  of  the  pleasure  which 
its  acquisition  may  bring.  Do  you  think  that  he 
who  loves  and  seeks  the  truth,  does  so  on  account 
of  the  pleasure  which  will  follow  the  discovery  of  it, 
and  because  he  has  conceived  beforehand  and  cal- 
culated that  he  shall,  by  this  discovery,  experience 
a  certain  amount  of  happiness  1  Nothing  can  be 
more  unlike  the  actual  fact,  than  such  a  supposition. 
In  far  the  majority  of  cases,  we  seek  the  ends  toward 
which  the  instincts  of  our  nature  impel  us,  for  the 
ends  themselves ;  in  thought  and  purpose,  the  end 
itself  is  the  only  thing  pursued  or  thought  about 


294  JOUFFROY. 

and  the  pleasure  is  unforeseen  and  unanticipated.  If 
this  is  true  of  mature  men,  it  must  be  true  of  the 
child.  The  fact  is,  the  child  never  calculates,  never 
foresees  the  consequences  of  action.  Children  are 
incapable  of  forming  such  conceptions  of  the  results 
of  conduct  as  are  absolutely  requisite,  before  calcu- 
lations of  pleasure  can  be  their  final  end,  and  their 
determining  motive.  Yet  more  may  it  be  said,  that, 
if  we  never  obeyed  the  tendencies  of  our  nature, 
except  from  considerations  of  the  pleasure  that  will 
accompany  their  gratification,  then  would  it  be  im- 
possible that  we  should  ever  act  at  all.  For,  plainly, 
we  never  should  know  that  the  gratification  of  desires 
would  procure  us  pleasure.,  except  by  having  once 
experienced  this  pleasure.  Therefore,  it  follows  that, 
if  it  is  true  that  the  condition  of  our  obeying  impulse, 
is  the  conception  of  the  pleasure  attendant  on  its 
.  gratification,  we  never  should  have  yielded,  for  the 
first  time,  to  any  instinctive  tendency,  and,  conse- 
quently, should  never  have  acted  at  all. 

And,  finally,  the  pleasure  which  is  the  end  sought 
by  self-love,  implies  the  activity  of  those  very  impulses, 
whose  end  is  different  from  this  pleasure.  For  what 
causes  the  pleasure  ?  The  gratification  of  natural 
impulse.  The  impulse  must  exist,  therefore,  antece- 
dently, or  no  pleasure  would  be  possible.  We  never 
should  experience  the  pleasure  of  quenching  thirst, 
for  example,  unless  we  had  this  thirst;  and  thirst  is 
a  craving  for  a  particular  object  —  water.  Self-love  is 
the  love  of  all  those  various  pleasures  which  accom- 
pany the  gratification  of  our  different  passions ;  it  is 
entirely  distinct  from  these,  for  it  necessarily  pre- 


THE    SELFISH     SYSTEM. HOBBES.  295 

supposes  the  existence  of  passions  having  for  their 
end,  in  action,  objects  quite  different  from  this 
pleasure. 

It  is  contradicting  the  actual  fact,  then,  to  maintain, 
that,  whenever  we  obey  an  impulse,  it  is  in  view  of 
the  pleasure  consequent  on  its  gratification.  But  is 
this  saying,  on  the  other  hand,  that  we  never  act 
and  never  pursue  an  object  for  the  sake  of  pleasure  ? 
Far  from  it.  For  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  our 
choice  is  often  thus  determined.  But,  because  we 
are  thus  sometimes  governed  in  our  actions,  it  nowise 
follows  that  we  always  are,  or  that  we  can  be 
governed  by  no  other  motive.  Among  these  modes, 
by  which  the  human  will  is  determined,  is  one  entirely 
distinct  from  this  of  self-love,  the  characteristic  of 
which  is,  that  the  motive  originates  directly  from  the 
instinctive  impulses  of  our  nature,  and  has  for  its 
final  end  the  particular  object  which  the  passion 
craves. 

Evidently,  then,  there  is,  in  the  idea  of  Hobbes, 
a  fundamental  error ;  and  it  consists  in  confounding 
two  quite  distinct  modes  of  human  volition ;  the 
instinctive  mode,  which  is  the  only  one  seen  in 
children  at  all,  and  which  is  seen,  more  or  less,  in 
mature  men ;  and  the  mode  of  self-interest  and  calcu- 
lation, which  originates  in  a  foresight  of  the  pleasure 
that  will  follow  the  accomplishment  of  an  act,  and 
the  possession  of  an  object.  It  is  plain,  then,  that 
even  if  the  moral  motive  did  not  exist  in  us,  it  would 
still  be  false,  wholly  false,  that  the  only  end  of  all 
our  actions  is  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and  the  avoid- 
ing of  pain. 


296  JOUFFROY. 

Great,  however,  as  is  the  error  of  thus  confound- 
ing impulse  with  self-love,  the  system  of  Hobbes  is 
chargeable  with  one  still  greater,  and  quite  as  easily 
detected.  It  confounds  the  moral  mode  of  volition 
with  that  of  self-interest.  For,  as  it  is  perfectly  true 
and  perfectly  evident  that,  in  a  multitude  of  instances, 
we  yield  directly,  and  without  calculation,  to  the  primi- 
tive instincts  of  our  nature,  so  it  is  equally  true  and 
yet  more  evident,  that,  in  very  many  others,  we  yield 
to  a  motive  which  is  neither  a  pure  natural  instinct, 
nor  a  calculation  of  pleasure,  but  a  conception  of 
duty. 

This  motive  of  duty,  gentlemen,  acts  more  or  less 
upon  all  men :  there  is  no  one  upon  whom  it  does  not 
act  sometimes ;  and  the  reason  why  we  are  so  apt  to 
suppose  that  it  seldom  influences  human  conduct,  is, 
that  it  is,  as  I  have  been  anxious  to  show  you,  so 
much  in  harmony,  both  with  our  natural  instincts  and 
our  true  self-interest,  that  we  rarely  find  it  acting  by 
itself,  and  independently  of  these  other  motives.  In 
most  cases,  the  moral  motive  cooperates  with  impulse 
and  self-love;  and  in  such  cases,  it  is  not  duty,  which 
is  a  pure  conception  of  the  reason,  that  is  most  appa- 
rent in  the  act  of  choice,  but  the  instinct  or  the 
selfish  calculation,  which  are  far  more  easily  recog- 
nized by  consciousness.  If,  however,  you  will  analyze 
your  commonest  purposes,  you  will  find,  that  the  idea 
of  order,  the  consideration  of  what  is  good  in  itself, 
has  an  influence,  which,  though  little  noticed,  is  still 
really  active.  In  the  majority  of  cases,  a  man  would 
be  ashamed  to  act,  except  in  a  certain  way ;  he  feels 
that  it  would  be  wrong  to  act  in  any  other ;  and  this 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  297 

consideration  has  great  weight  in  affecting  his  decis- 
ion. True,  before  yielding  to  the  influence  of  such 
considerations,  we  are  accustomed  to  conjecture  the 
consequences;  but,  as  the  honorable  path  is  usually 
the  safe  one,  it  happens  most  frequently  among  men 
of  good  sense,  that  such  foresight  of  consequences 
strengthens,  rather  than  impairs,  the  power  of  the 
sense  of  duty ;  and,  in  opposite  cases,  the  sentiment 
of  honor  still  weighs  against  that  of  interest,  and 
not  seldom  counterbalances  it.  Do  I,  by  such  state- 
ments, make  man  appear  better  than  he  is,  and 
attribute  an  exaggerated  moral  purity  to  his  common 
modes  of  volition  ?  In  most  cases,  there  is  undoubted- 
ly a  mixture  of  other  motives  with  that  of  duty ; 
but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  not  deny  the 
fact,  that  the  instinctive  and  selfish  motives  do  not 
exercise  exclusive  control  over  us,  but  that  the  moral 
does  modify  their  influence.  The  simple  truth  is, 
that,  in  a  multitude  of  cases,  the  moral  motive 
cooperates  in  the  determinations  of  our  will,  while, 
in  many  others,  it  is  the  sole  spring  of  conduct. 
A  philosopher,  then,  who,  first  suppressing  and  deny- 
ing the  influence  of  the  instinctive  and  impassioned 
mode  of  choice,  goes  on  to  deny  also  the  moral 
mode,  is  doubly  false  to  human  nature.  Thus  muti- 
lating our  nature,  and  setting  out  from  such  false 
premises,  how  can  he  but  arrive  at  conclusions,  which 
will  give  him  a  wholly  incomplete  and  erroneous 
principle  of  ethics.  Apply  to  such  a  principle 
Hobbes's  vigorous  logic,  and  the  necessary  result 
must  be  deductions  which  will  utterly  overturn  the 
common  convictions  of  mankind. 


298  JOUFFROY. 

But  the  psychological  errors  of  Hobbes  do  not 
stop  here.  Admit  his  hypothesis,  and  grant  that  the 
selfish  motive  is  the  sole  spring  of  all  our  conduct, 
still  I  maintain  that,  even  within  this  limit,  Hobbes  is 
incomplete  and  faulty ;  I  maintain  that  he  has  dis- 
figured and  mutilated  even  this  part  of  our  nature; 
or,  in  other  words,  I  say  that  self-love,  such  as 
Hobbes  has  described  it,  is  not  the  true  self-love 
which  exists  in  the  nature  given  us  by  God. 

Let  me  recall  to  your  minds  an  observation,  made 
while  I  was  exhibiting  to  you  an  analysis  of  the 
moral  facts  of  human  nature ;  which  is,  that  into 
the  idea  of  self-interest  well  understood  there  enter 
two  elements ;  first,  a  view  of  our  own  personal  good, 
and,  secondly,  a  view  of  the  pleasure  accompanying 
the  attainment  of  this  good.  These  two  elements, 
distinct  as  they  are,  and  as  I  have  shown  them  to  be, 
do  still  both  enter  into  the  idea  which  we  form  of  our 
highest  interests. 

Hobbes,  however,  recognizes  but  one  of  these 
elements,  and  entirely  neglects  the  other ;  so  that, 
after  having  elevated  self-love  into  being  the  only 
motive  of  volition,  he  actually  proceeds  to  divide 
this  motive,  and  then,  casting  aside  the  larger  and 
better,  preserves  only  the  least  part,  which  is  but 
a  consequence,  result,  and  accompaniment  of  the 
other.  When  reason,  awakening  after  long  yeara 
of  infancy,  begins  to  ask  what  constitutes  our  highest 
good,  and  what  ought  to  be  the  end  of  our  conduct, 
the  first  thing  it  remarks  is,  that  our  nature  instinctive- 
ly pursues  certain  ends,  which  it  cannot  attain  without 
pleasure,  or  fail  of  without  pain.  Naturally  enough, 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  299 

then,  reason  stops  first  at  this  idea,  that  the  final 
end  of  our  instincts  is  the  happiness  which  thei«* 
satisfaction  gives. 

But  reason,  gentlemen,  cannot  long  rest  here. 
Each  instant,  it  meets  with  a  crowd  of  facts,  which 
prove  the  incompleteness  of  this  idea.  When  a  young 
and  beautiful  woman,  passionately  fond  of  the  world 
and  of  display,  devotes  herself  at  once  and  entirely 
to  the  care  of  her  child,  and,  renouncing  pleasures 
lately  sought,  giving  up  her  favorite  pursuits,  sacri- 
ficing her  tastes  and  desires,  forgets  all  that  once 
occupied  her,  in  the  delight  experienced  while  she 
sits  night  and  day  by  the  cradle  of  that  young  being, 
who  is  wholly  incapable  of  repaying  her  affection, — 
who  could  see,  in  this  sublime  transformation,  merely 
a  selfish  calculation  of  pleasure  I  Every  one  must 
see  the  presence  of  another  motive,  which  at  once, 
and  independently  of  all  reflection  and  calculation, 
impels  the  mother  to  love  her  child  as  a  final  end ; 
I  mean  the  powerful  and  wonderful  instinct  of  sym- 
pathy. When  the  student,  enamored  of  science, 
sacrifices  health,  repose,  all  pleasures  which  tempt 
mankind,  to  the  enjoyment  of  hunting  up  from  musty 
volumes  select  passages,  comparing  them  together, 
and,  after  long  and  laborious  investigation,  drawing 
from  them  some  inference  as  to  a  trifling  event  that 
occurred  thousands  of  years  ago,  —  who  can  fail  to 
be  struck  with  the  evident  arid  undeniable  faot,  that 
the  cause  of  this  devoted  toil  is  simply  the  ardent 
curiosity  for  knowledge,  which  is  one  of  the  instincts 
of  all  intelligent  beings?  A  love  for  truth  in  itself, 
and  a  longing  to  discover  and  know  it,  is  his  final 


300  JOUFFROY. 

end,  and  he  has  never  thought  for  a  moment  of  the 
pleasure  that  will  attend  its  discovery.  Do  we  seek 
truth,  then,  from  having  calculated  what  sensations 
its  acquisition  will  bring,  or  to  obtain  public  applause, 
or  for  the  gratification  of  vanity  which  this  applause 
will  give?  Seeking  truth  from  such  motives,  we 
should  never  find  it ;  for  then  only  do  we  gain  it, 
when  we  pursue  it  for  itself.  Reason  is  struck  at 
once  with  these  and  similar  facts,  forever  presented 
in  the  world ;  it  sees,  then,  that  its  first  idea  of  our 
nature  was  incomplete,  and  recognizes  the  fact  that 
there  are  things,  which  are  good  in  themselves,  quite 
independently  of  the  pleasure  which  they  occasion  ; 
and  that  they  would  continue  to  be  good,  even  if  the 
pleasure  did  not  attend  them.  When  reason  takes 
this  step,,  it  rises  to  an  idea  of  our  true  good  wholly 
different  from  the  first  it  had  conceived  ;  good  now 
becomes  to  its  view  that  which  nature  impels  us  to 
seek,  and  which  is  agreeable  and  in  harmony  with 
our  nature;  in  other  words,  the  second  element  of 
self-love  appears. 

This  is  not,  indeed,  the  moral  motive,  but  it  ap- 
proaches it  nearly.  This  step  being  taken,  a  second 
at  once  succeeds.  Reason  demands  why  it  is  that 
certain  things  are  in  harmony  with  our  nature,  while 
others  are  not  so;  —  why  it  is  that  we  are  attracted 
to  certain  objects,  and  repelled  from  others.  The 
idea  that  our  nature  has  been  made  for  these  very 
ends,  takes  the  place  of  our  former  one,  that  these 
ends  are  agreeable  to  our  nature ;  and,  from  this 
new  idea,  which,  though  still  within  the  sphere  of 
selfishness,  approaches  nearly  the  limits  of  morality, 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  301 

we  rise  to  a  yet  higher  one,  that  all  natures  have 
their  peculiar  ends,  —  that  there  is  one  ultimate  and 
absolute  end,  of  which  particular  ends  are  but  com- 
ponent parts,  —  that  this  absolute  end  is  universal 
order,  —  and  that  this  universal  order  is  the  will 
of  God.  Thus,  at  last,  we  are  lifted  above  motives 
of  a  personal  and  selfish  nature,  and  rise  to  one 
which  is  wholly  impersonal  and  moral.  These  various 
transitions  are  necessary  to  conduct  reason  upward 
from  the  view  of  pleasure,  as  the  only  end  of  action, 
to  that  of  absolute  good  —  of  good,  properly  so  called. 
Self-love,  then,  is  far  more  complex  than  Hobbes  has 
considered  it.  It  includes  other  elements  besides  the 
single  one  of  pleasure  —  other  ideas  than  that  of 
happiness ;  and  thus  you  see  how,  even  in  regard  to 
self-love,  Hobbes  has  given  a  mutilated  and  imperfect 
picture  of  human  nature.  He  has  given  a  false 
view  of  our  nature  in  one  other  way  also;  and  I 
shall  close  my  lecture  with  its  description. 

We  have  seen  that  Hobbes  has  discovered,  in 
self-love,  only  the  one  element  of  pleasure;  whereas 
it  appears  there  are  several  elements.  But  I  confine 
myself  now  to  a  consideration  of  this  single  element ; 
and  I  maintain  that,  even  here,  Hobbes  has  no  more 
given  a  correct  and  complete  view  of  pleasure,  than 
he  has  of  self-love.  Of  the  three  modes  by  which 
the  human  will  is  determined,  he  suppresses  two, 
and  admits  only  that  of  self-love;  the  selfish  motive 
is  complex,  but  he  suppresses  one  of  its  elements, 
and  preserves  only  that  of  pleasure.  And  now,  does 
he  do  full  justice  to  this  ?  No :  pleasure  is  also 
complex,  but  he  mutilates  it.  For,  among  the  pleas- 


302  JOUFFROY. 

ures  which  man  is  capable  of  enjoying,  a  very  large 
number  are  associated  with  the  happiness  of  others ; 
and  these  are  our  very  highest  pleasures.  Who  does 
not  know  that  the  contemplation  of  the  happiness 
of  others,  as  increased  by  our  actions,  or  of  assistance 
rendered  by  us  for  their  support  and  relief,  —  who 
does  not  know  that  a  consciousness  of  the  sympathy 
that  they  feel  for  us,  and  a  sentiment  of  the  kindness 
that  we  experience  towards  them,  —  who  does  not 
know  that  these  form  the  largest  and  the  finest  part 
of  our  happiness  ?  In  forming  calculations  as  to 
the  attainment  of  the  highest  amount  of  pleasure 
possible,  a  wise  man  would  be  careful,  then,  not  to 
omit  that  class  of  pleasures  which  originate  in  sym- 
pathy, and  which,  more  than  all  others,  contribute  to 
the  happiness  that,  according  to  Hobbes,  is  the  sole 
end  to  be  pursued  in  life.  Now,  suppose  that  a  man 
should  not  overlook,  but  recognize,  this  abundant 
source  of  agreeable  sensations,  —  suppose  that  he 
should  take  them  into  his  calculations,  —  could  he 
ever  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  the  state  of  war 
is  the  state  of  nature  ?  Never,  gentlemen  :  he  would 
come  necessarily  to  the  exactly  opposite  conclusion, 
that  the  social  state  is  the  truly  natural  state.  For, 
if  the  sight  of  the  happiness  of  others  constitutes 
the  largest  and  best  portion  of  our  own,  the  calcula- 
tion of  his  individual  happiness  would  lead  a  man 
of  sense  to  occupy  himself  in  securing  the  well-being 
of  his  brethren  —  to  desire  it,  and  labor  for  it :  all 
men,  therefore,  merely  for  the  sake  of  their  own  hap- 
piness, would  desire  the  happiness  of  their  fellow-men ; 
all  would  seek  to  enjoy  the  delightful  sentiments  of 


THE  SELFISH  SYSTEM. HOBBES.        303 

kindness  towards,  and  sympathy  from,  their  kind  ;  all 
would  pursue  the  pleasures  which  friendship,  love,  fam- 
ily ties,  national  interests,  and  charity,  alone  can  give. 
Yet  more  ;  there  is  a  powerful  instinct  in  our  nature, — 
an  instinct  which,  ungratified,  produces  suffering,  and, 
gratified,  brings  joy,  —  the  social  instinct;  and  this 
impels  us  to  seek  society,  and  makes  intercourse  with 
fellow-men  an  absolute  necessity.  The  satisfaction 
of  this  instinct,  also,  must  be  taken  into  our  calcula- 
tions and  plans  for  happiness.  I  ask,  now,  how,  in 
what  marvellous  and  incomprehensible  way,  could 
the  state  of  war  gratify  such  wants  as  grow  out  of 
these  natural  dispositions  ?  Granting,  then,  that 
pleasure  is  the  end  of  all  our  actions,  and  the  sole 
motive  of  all  volitions,  yet  still,  when  we  regard 
this  capacity  for  pleasure  in  its  full  extent,  not  only 
are  we  not  led  to  the  conclusion  of  Hobbes,  that 
the  state  of  nature  is  a  state  of  war,  but  we  arrive 
at  a  result  diametrically  opposite.  Hobbes,  then, 
reducing  all  motives  to  this  single  one  of  the  pursuit 
of  pleasure,  has  not  comprehended  the  nature  of 
pleasure  even ;  he  has  recognized  only  its  grosser 
elements,  which  are  the  smallest  in  number,  and 
least  important ;  and,  even  within  the  narrow  limits 
to  which  he  has  confined  himself,  has  disfigured,  so 
far  as  an  observer  possibly  could  do,  the  true  image  of 
human  nature. 

What  now,  gentlemen,  shall  we  say  of  a  system  built 
upon  such  a  foundation  of  error  ?  Is  it  not  already 
condemned?  Is  it  worth  our  while  to  examine  and 
refute  it?  It  is  not,  scientifically  speaking.  But  it 
does  demand  our  further  consideration,  when  we  call 


304  JOUFFROY. 

to  mind  the  influence  which  it  has  exerted,  and  when 
we  reflect  that*  it  owes  this  influence  to  the  very  fact  of 
its  mutilating,  as  it  does,  the  moral  element,  while  ad- 
mitting only  the  grossest  and  most  tangible  elements. of 
human  volitions.  It  is  this  which  gives  it  that  appear- 
ance of  simplicity,  and  that  plausibility,  which  deceive 
the  crowd ;  and  it  is  this  which  has  made  it  seem  valua- 
ble in  the  judgment  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished  ju- 
rists of  our  age, — I  mean  Bentham,  —  who,  in  our  day, 
has  revived  this  system  under  a  new  form,  hereafter  to 
be  described.  We  must  go  on,  then,  and  finish  the 
work  we  have  begun ;  we  must  examine  and  discuss  the 
consequences  and  details  of  the  system,  whose  funda- 
mental principle  we  have  now  overthrown.  To  this 
duty  my  next  lecture  Will  be  devoted. 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  305 


LECTURE    XII. 


THE  SELFISH  SYSTEM.  —  HOBBES. 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  my  last  lecture  I  confined  myself  to  the 
consideration  of  two  points.  First,  I  exhibited  the 
system  of  Hobbes  in  its  principles  and  consequences ; 
and  secondly,  I  compared  these  principles  with  the  facts 
of  human  nature,  of  which  they  pretend  to  be  a  repre- 
sentatio'n,  and  showed  that  a  more  deformed  and  muti- 
lated image  of  the  original  could  not  possibly  be 
formed. 

Let  me  remind  you,  in  brief,  that  Hobbes's  system 
takes  it  for  granted,  that  the  universal  motive  of  action 
is  the  desire  of  well-being ;  that  is  to  say,  the  pursuit 
of  agreeable  sensations.  To  determine  whether  this 
system  rests  on  a  firm  foundation,  we  must  inquire, 
then,  whether  it  is  true,  that  human  actions  have  no 
other  origin  than  this  desire  of  pleasure  and  abhorrence 
of  pain.  This  is  a  simple  question  of  fact :  to  decide 
it,  we  have  merely  to  ask  ourselves  how  our  volitions 
are  determined,  and  then  compare  with  our  conscious- 
ness this  pretended  picture  of  ourselves,  which  Hobbes 
sets  before  us.  This  we  have  done,  and  the  result  of 

AA2 


30(5 


JOUFFROY. 


our  discussion  was  all  but  a  complete  demonstration  of 
the  utter  falsity  of  the  whole  system. 

I  showed,  in  the  first  place,  you  will  recollect,  that 
of  the  three  different  modes  of  human  volition,  Hobbes 
has  entirely  overlooked  two,  —  the  impulsive  and  the 
moral,  —  and  has  admitted  only  one,  —  the  selfish, — 
which  he  has  consequently  set  up  as  the  sole  and  univer- 
sal motive  of  all  choice  and  action.  In  the  second  place, 
I  showed  that  the  idea  which  Hobbes  conceived  of  even 
this  motive  of  self-love,  was  incomplete ;  inasmuch  as 
in  this  selfish  mode  of  volition,  there  is  another  element 
beside  the  desire  of  pleasure.  Action  is  in  harmony 
with  our  nature,  quite  independently  of  the  pleasure 
that  may  result  from  it.  So  that,  after  having  entirely 
set  aside  two  of  the  modes  of  human  volition,  Hobbes 
mutilates  the  only  one  which  he  preserves,  in  suppress- 
ing by  far  the  most  important  of  the  two  elements  of 
which  it  is  made  up,  and  admitting  only  its  least  im- 
portant element  of  pleasure. 

In  the  third  place,  I  showed  that  Hobbes  has  muti- 
lated even  this  element  of  pleasure,  as  he  before  had 
the  principle  of  self-love,  and  the  whole  phenomenon 
of  volition ;  for  his  system  does  not  take  into  account,  in 
its  estimate,  the  largest  and  most  numerous  sources  of 
happiness  —  the  pleasures  of  sympathy ;  so  that  even 
pleasure  itself,  the  only  element  of  self-love  recognized 
by  Hobbes,  is  falsely  represented ;  for  he  has,  if  I 
may  say  so,  cut  it  in  two,  and  thrown  away  its  better 
portion ;  and  thus  finally  has  settled  the  whole  matter, 
by  considering  this  fragment  of  the  element  of  pleasure 
as  the  universal  and  only  motive  of  all  choice  and  con- 
duct. 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  307 

I  repeat  it ;  never  has  unfaithfulness  to  psychological 
truth  heen  pushed  so  far ;  never  was  there  a  system  so 
completely  and  strangely  disfiguring  the  true  image  of 
human  nature.  It  is  nowise  extraordinary,  therefore, 
that  it  leads  to  consequences  so  wholly  untenable,  mon- 
strous, and  contradictory  to  the  universal  faith  and 
common  sense  of  men.  The  consequences  to  which 
this  system  leads,  are  as  absurd  as  its  principles  are 
false ;  and  common  sense  as  instantly  repels  the  one  as 
observation  does  the  other. 

This  might  be  called  a  direct  refutation  of  the  system 
of  Hobbes.  But,  as  you  well  know,  there  are  two 
modes  of  refuting  an  opinion  ;  the  first  is  to  confront 
it  with  the  truth,  and  compare  them  together  ;  the  sec- 
ond is  to  consider  it  by  itself,  and  see  whether  it  is 
throughout  consistent.  Now,  I  should  fail  of  exhibiting 
the  utter  weakness  of  Hobbes's  system,  if  I  omitted  to 
apply  to  it  this  second  mode  of  refutation ;  for,  al- 
though his  mind  was  logical,  he  could  not  avoid  falling 
into  many  contradictions,  when  his  fundamental  princi- 
ple was' so  false.  The  present  lecture  will  be  occupied 
with  an  exhibition  of  the  most  glaring  of  these  contra- 
dictions. 

You  will  remember,  doubtless,  that  Hobbes  has  de- 
monstrated, as  he  thinks,  that  a  state  of  war  is  the  only 
natural  state  among  individuals  brought  in  contact  with 
each  other.  You  will  remember  also,  that,  appreciating 
the  inconveniences  of  this  state  of  things,  he  has  de- 
clared this  state  of  war  to  be  the  worst  that  can  possi- 
bly exist,  and  hence  has  been  led  to  the  assertion,  that 
it  is  for  each  man's  highest  interest  to  accept  of  the 
state  of  peace,  at  whatever  cost,  or  upon  whatever 


308  jouFFiior. 

conditions,  it  may  be  obtained,  and  thus  has  explained 
the  creation  of  that  social  state,  of  which  peace  is  at 
once  the  end  and  characteristic. 

Now,  this  very  mode  of  explaining  the  foundation  of 
society  necessarily  implies  a  contradiction  ;  and  this  is 
the  first  that  I  shall  exhibit  to  you.  If  calculations  of 
self-interest  could  lead  men  thus  to  substitute  a  state  of 
peace  for  a  state  of  war,  a  state  of  society  for  a  state 
of  nature,  the  very  same  calculations  would  have  pre- 
vented and  rendered  impossible  that  natural  state  of  war. 
For  how  can  it  be  true,  that  man's  natural  state  is  a 
state  of  war,  if  it  is  in  his  nature  to  see  and  feel  that  this 
is  the  worst  possible  state  for  his  own  interests  ?  If  the 
principle  of  self-love  leads  to  the  apprehension  of  this 
truth,  then  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  it  can  produce  the 
state  of  war  which  contradicts  this  truth,  and  not  the 
state  of  peace  which  is  in  harmony  with  it.  Admitting, 
then,  that  man  is  constituted  as  Hobbes  asserts,  his 
state  of  nature,  as  he  calls  it,  is  impossible.  The  same 
reasons  assigned  by  him,  as  sufficient  to  bring  it  to  an 
end,  are  strong  enough  to  have  prevented  its  ever  origi- 
nating :  this  is  the  first  contradiction  to  which  I  would 
call  your  attention. 

A  second  contradiction  Hobbes  is  guilty  of,  when  he 
asserts  that  in  the  state  of  nature  there  are  natural 
rights,  which  give  way,  after  the  formation  of  a  society, 
to  positive  rights.  Hobbes  says,  that  in  the  state  of 
nature  each  man  has  a  right  to  all  things,  and  that  this 
right  is  a  natural  right.  Now,  I  confess,  I  am  aston- 
ished, and  cannot  but  find  fault  with  Hobbes,  that  he 
should  have  introduced  this  word  right  into  a  sys- 
tem which  utterly  abolishes  and  excludes  every  such 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  3D9 

idea  as  men  have  usually  attached  to  that  word.  To 
satisfy  yourselves  of  this,  gentlemen,  you  have  but  to 
consider  how  different  this  pretended  right  is  from  the 
actual  right,  which  the  universal  sense  of  mankind 
recognizes. 

What  are  the  characteristics  of  this  right  possessed 
by  every  one  over  all  things  —  this  natural  and  primitive 
right,  according  to  Hobbes  ? 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  a  right  imposing  no  corre- 
sponding duty.  If  I  have  a  right  to  the  possession  of 
all  things,  and  my  neighbor  has  equally  this  right,  it 
follows  that  my  right  imposes  no  restraint  upon  him, 
neither  does  his  right  upon  me ;  my  right  destroys  his, 
and  his  destroys  mine  ;  there  are  no  reciprocal  duties. 
The  first  characteristic,  then,  of  these  rights,  so  called 
by  Hobbes,  is,  that  they  have  no  corresponding  duties. 

But  further;  so  far  from  imposing  any  obligation 
upon  others,  this  right  of  mine  is  one  that  every  body 
has  a  perfect  right  to  violate.  So  far  as  I  have  any 
right,  just  so  far  have  others  ;  they  have  a  right,  then, 
to  disregard  my  right.  This  natural  right,  therefore, 
not  only  does  not  impose  duties  upon  any  body,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  every  body  has  a  right  to  violate  it.  Of 
all  rights,  surely  such  a  one  is  the  strangest  that  can 
be  conceived. 

Once  more ;  this  right  is  one  which,  though  possessed 
by  all,  is  recognized  by  none.  For,  since  my  right 
extends  to  every  thing,  and  my  neighbor's  does  the 
same,  I  cannot  but  recognize  this  right  of  his ;  conse- 
quently, I  cannot  feel  that  I  have  the  right  myself. 
What  is  true  of  one  is  true  of  all ;  and  hence  it  seems 


310  JOUFFROY. 

that   no  one   can  recognize  that  he  himself. has  this 
right,  which,  nevertheless,  each  and  all  possess. 

Thus  it  appears,  then,  that  the  three  characteristics 
of  this  natural  right,  admitted  by  Hobbes,  are,  1.  that 
it  imposes  no  corresponding  duties ;  2.  that  it  is  of 
such  a  nature  that  every  body  has  a  right  to  violate  it ; 
and,  3.  that  no  one  can  recognize  it  as  belonging  to 
himself.  What  a  prodigious  difference  is  therebetween 
any  such  meaning  of  the  word  right,  and  its  meaning 
in  common  acceptation  !  The  word  right,  as  used  and 
understood  by  the  best  writers,  and  by  the  common 
sense  of  all  men,  from  the  shepherd,  who  guards  his 
flock,  to  the  legislator,  who  enacts  laws,  implies  some- 
thing which  all  must  recognize  as  sacred,  and  which 
demands  from  all  respect.  If  I  possess  a  right,  I  per- 
fectly comprehend  —  I  and  the  whole  world  with  me  — 
that  you,  and  every  body  else,  are  bound  to  respect  it ; 
that,  by  disregarding  this  right,  you  are  false  to  a  duty, 
and  violate  a  consecrated  thing.  My  right,  then,  im- 
poses a  duty  upon  all  others ;  no  other  being  has  a 
right  to  violate  it;  and  thus  all  recognize  that  it 
belongs  peculiarly  to  me,  and  not  to  others  ;  so  that 
right,  according  to  the  universal  understanding  of  man- 
kind, has  characteristics  precisely  opposite  to  those 
which  mark  the  pretended  right  of  Hobbes.  Be  not 
astonished,  then,  at  meeting  with  the  word  right  in  a 
system  which  makes  all  right  impossible.  We  may 
reconcile  it  with  all  systems,  and  interweave  it  with 
them,  if  we  will  but  alter  and  destroy  the  very  idea  that 
the  name  of  right  expresses. 

What  I  have  now  said  of  rights,  as  the  word  is  defined 


THE    SELFISH 

and  employed  by  Hobbes,  might  be  said  with  equal 
truth  of  duties.  What,  according  to  him,  are  duties? 
He  recognizes  but  one  class  of  these  —  the  duties  of  the 
subject  to  the  government ;  there  are  no  duties  for 
government;  duties  are  confined  to  subjects.  And  now, 
I  ask,  what  is  the  nature  of  these  duties  ?  And,  suppos- 
ing myself  in  the  position  of  the  subject,  I  fincl  that,  in 
my  relation  to  government,  two  kinds  of  cases  may 
arise ;  —  first,  those  in  which  it  appears  to  be  for  my 
interest  to  obey ;  and,  second,  those  where  obedience 
seems  to  be  against  my  interest.  Now,  in  the  former 
case,  to  what  motive  does  a  man  yield,  when  he  obeys 
and  respects  state  authority?  Evidently  to  the  single 
motive  admitted  by  Hobbes,  that  is,  self-interest  well 
understood.  But  what,  then,  shall  the  subject  do  in  the 
second  case,  where  he  finds  obedience  prejudicial  to 
his  interests  ?  Has  not  Hobbes  declared,  that  interest 
is  the  only  possible  motive  of  volition  ;  and  yet  more, 
that  each  is  sole  and  sovereign  judge  of  his  own  inter- 
est, and  that  he  may  not  be  condemned  for  his  judg- 
ment? What  becomes,  then,  of  the  duty?  By  what 
motive  shall  the  subject  still  be  led  to  obey  and  respect 
government  ?  There  is  no  such  motive,  if  man  is 
constituted  as  Hobbes  supposes.  If,  then,  he  pretends 
that,  in  such  cases,  the  subject  must  obey,  Hobbes  falls 
into  a  manifest  contradiction  of  his  own  system  ;  for,  if 
a  man  can  feel  that  to  be  a  duty  which  is  not  for  his 
interest,  then  must  there  be  some  other  motive  beside 
self-interest,  and  Hobbes's  system  is  false.  But  Hobbes 
will  say,  it  is  always  for  our  interest  to  obey  govern- 
ment, because  the  state  of  war  is  the  worst  of  all  states. 
To  this  I  reply,  that  if  I  see  this  to  be  for  my  interest, 


312  JOUFFROY. 

then  it  is  to  the  motive  of  interest  I  yield  ;  and  duty 
means,  therefore,  only  interest  well  understood  ;  but  if 
I  do  not  see  it  to  be  for  my  interest,  how  shall  I  be  in- 
fluenced by  interest  well  understood,  when  I  do  not 
understand  my  interest  ?  And  if  I  do  not  understand 
it,  what  motive  to  obedience  remains  ?  What  becomes 
of  Hobbes's  duty  ?  What  signification  has  the  word  1 
Is  it  not  plain  that  Hobbes  must  either  give  up  the 
word,  as  an  unmeaning  one,  or  contradict  his  system 
by  assigning  it  a  meaning  ? 

So  far,  gentlemen,  from  there  being  any  ground  upon 
which,  according  to  Hobbes,  an  individual  may  be 
constrained  to  do  what  is  for  his  interest,  when  he 
does  not  comprehend  that  it  is  so,  the  consequence 
from  his  principle  would  lead  to  the  exactly  opposite 
result  —  that  the  individual  has  a  right  to  violate  such 
duties,  as  it  is  pretended  interest  imposes,  when  he 
does  not  see  that  they  would  advance  his  interest. 
What  is  natural  right,  according  to  Hobbes?  It  is 
precisely  the  right,  possessed  by  each  individual,  of 
seeking  what  he  conceives  to  be  his  highest  good,  in 
just  the  manner  which  he  thinks  best.  Such  is  natural 
right,  in  Hobbes's  system.  If  he  pretends,  then,  to 
impose  upon  the  subject  the  duty  of  obeying  govern- 
ment, when  he  sees  it  to  be  for  his  interest  not  to  obey 
it,  he  is  imposing  a  duty  which  the  subject  has,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  doctrine,  a  perfect  right  to  neglect  and 
violate. 

Now,  what  is  duty,  according  to  the  common  under- 
standing of  mankind,  as  manifested  in  every  language  ? 
It  is  something  sacred  in  itself,  something  which  we 
are  obliged  to  perform,  and  which  is  acknowledged  and 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. IIOBBES.  313 

recognized  as  sacred,  not  only  by  the  person  bound 
to  observe  it,  but  by  all  others,  who,  recognizing  it  as 
sacred,  have,  for  that  reason,  a  perfect  right  to  demand 
that  it  shall  be  respected. 

Thus,  when  I  see  that  I  have  a  duty,  I  feel  compelled 
to  discharge  it ;  and  others  feel,  although  my  perform- 
ance of  the  act  may  not  affect  them,  yet  because  they 
comprehend  the  obligations  resting  on  a  man  in  the 
different  situations  of  life,  that  it  is  my  duty,  and  that 
they  have  a  right  to  say,  "Do  this,  or  be  judged  un- 
worthy." Between  this  idea  of  duty,  as  it  exists  in 
universal  human  consciousness,  and  the  idea  of  interest 
well  understood,  which  Hobbes  is  obliged  to  substitute 
for  the  true  meaning  of  the  word,  there  is  a  distinction 
too  wide  to  be  overlooked  —  a  distinction  quite  as  im- 
portant, as  that  which  separates  the  signification  of  right 
in  his  system  from  its  common  signification  among 
mankind. 

Hobbes  may  use  the  words  right  and  duty,  therefore ; 
but  if  he  employs  them  in  their  general  acceptation,  he 
falls  into  a  monstrous  and  glaring  contradiction.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  and  as  apparently  is  the  case,  he 
attaches  to  them  a  new  and  unwonted  sense,  we  may 
well  inquire  by  what  title  and  authority  does  he  alter 
thus  the  common  meaning  of  words,  and  so  deceive  his 
reader  into  the  idea  that  rights  and  duties  are,  or  can 
be,  recognized  in  such  a  system  as  his?  For  one  or 
the  other  of  these  abuses  of  language,  Hobbes  must 
seem  liable  to  condemnation,  in  the  judgment  of  every 
reasonable  man. 

It  is  in  vain,  in  a  system  which  does  not  admit, 
among  the  possible  motives  of  human  volition,  thn 

VOL.    I.  B  B 


314  JOUFFROV. 

rational  motive,  to  pretend  to  discover  any  thing  even 
remotely  resembling  a  right  or  a  duty.  The  attempt 
must  always  utterly  fail. 

When  I  yield  to  the  impulse  of  passion,  my  act  has 
no  moral  character  whatever,  and  I  feel  no  right  to 
demand  that  others  should  regard  me  with  respect ;  for 
I  am  not  seeking  to  accomplish  absolute  good,  but 
merely  to  gratify  my  desire.  Again,  when  I  follow 
interest  well  understood,  my  motive  is  still  personal ;  it 
is  not  for  absolute  good,  but  for  private  good,  that  I  act, 
and  1  feel  that  there  is  nothing  which  gives  my  conduct 
a  claim  to  respect  in  my  own  or  others'  eyes ;  my  happi- 
ness is  agreeable  and  pleasing  in  prospect,  but  I  am 
aware  that  it  imposes  no  duties,  and  secures  me  no 
rights.  If  men  recognized  no  other  motives  than  these 
two  of  impulse  and  interest,  then  the  ideas  of  rights 
and  duties  would  not  exist.  Whence  come  these  ideas? 
On  what  condition  can  they  originate?  On  one  con- 
dition only,  and  that  is,  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
absolute  good  —  something  good,  not  from  the  benefit  it 
brings  to  one  or  to  every  individual  of  our  race,  but 
from  the  eternal  nature  of  things.  On  this  condition, 
rights  and  duties  become  possible  ;  because,  whenever 
an  act  to  be  performed  appears  to  have  this  character 
of  absolute  good,  at  once  I  feel  myself  obliged  to  do  it; 
and,  feeling  this  obligation,  I  am  conscious  of  my  right 
to  act  without  hinderance ;  because,  since  every  other 
person  may  see,  as  I  do,  that  it  is  absolutely  good,  and 
feel,  as  I  do,  that  I  am  bound  to  perform  it,  he  must  be 
conscious  of  an  obligation  on  his  part  not  to  prevent 
me  in  its  execution,  but  to  remind  me  of  my  responsi- 
bility, and  even  to  demand  that  I  should  discharge  my 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  HOBBES.  315 

duty,  if  he  suffers  from  my  neglect.  Thus  all  rights 
and  duties  are  naturally  derived  from  the  rational  mo- 
tive. Suppress  this  motive,  and  duties  and  rights  be- 
come impossible ;  the  words  themselves  have  no  mean- 
ing, and  are  of  no  further  use  in  human  speech.  Under 
whatever  disguise  or  mask,  then,  the  selfish  or  the 
impulsive  systems  may  present  themselves,  they  can 
never  properly  introduce  the  true  ideas  of  duty  or  of 
right. 

We  may  well  suppose  that  Hobbes  was  sensible  of 
the  unfitness  of  his  system,  as  a  foundation  for  social 
rights  and  duties,  and  that  his  wish  to  supply  this  defi- 
ciency led  to  his  hypothesis  of  a  contract  upon  which 
society  is  based.  If  this  was  his  idea,  he  was  guilty  of 
a  great  error ;  for  a  contract  presupposes  the  moral 
motive,  and  in  his  system  is  just  as  impossible  as  rights 
and  duties. 

Men,  says  Hobbes,  feeling  war  to  be  the  worst  pos- 
sible state  of  existence,  united  together ;  and,  desiring 
at  any  cost  to  substitute  peace,  they  agreed  to  establish 
a  power  sufficiently  strong  to  subdue  individuals,  with 
the  especial  object  of  restraining  them,  and  compelling 
them  to  live  in  harmony.  Such,  according  to  Hobbes, 
was  the  origin  of  many  communities,  and  such  the 
foundation  of  the  laws  by  which  they  are  governed. 

Let  us  adopt  the  hypothesis,  gentlemen,  and  then  ask 
what  is  the  meaning  of  such  a  contract,  and  what  is  its 
authority  over  the  individuals  who  enter  into  it. 

Let  us  take,  then,  two  men,  constituted  as  Hobbes 
supposes  all  men  to  be ;  and  now  what  will  be  a  con- 
tract to  them,  and  how  far  will  they  feel  themselves 
bound  by  it?  They  have  entered  into  certain  engage- 


316  JOUFFROY. 

ments,  for  the  purpose  of  securing  their  highest  inter- 
ests; how  far,  now,  may  they  depend  upon  each  other's 
respect  for  these  engagements  ?  If  each  supposes  that 
the  other  will  be  governed  by  the  agreement,  only  in  so 
far  as  he  sees  his  own  interests  are  promoted  by  it, 
then,  I  say,  the  contract  is  useless ;  for,  before  it  was 
formed,  each  might  have  expected  from  the  other  quite 
as  much.  If,  on  the  contrary,  either  anticipated  that 
the  person  with  whom  he  enters  into  the  contract  will 
observe  its  provisions,  even  where  interest  impels  him 
to  disregard  them,  then,  I  ask,  on  what  ground  does  he 
rest  such  a  hope?  By  what  reasoning  can  a  man,  con- 
stituted as  Hobbes  asserts  that  we  all  are,  feel  himself 
bound  to  respect  an  engagement  which  is  inferior  to 
his  interests  ?  On  the  contrary,  would  he  not,  in  such 
a  case,  have  a  most  manifest  and  undeniable  right  to 
violate  it?  His  promise  restrains  him,  says  Hobbes. 
Ay  !  it  would  restrain  men  made  as  we  are,  but  not 
such  as  Hobbes  describes.  For  why  is  a  promise  bind- 
ing? Because,  and  only  because,  reason  declares  it  to 
be  so,  and  tells  us  plainly  that  it  cannot  be  broken 
without  falsehood  and  infamy.  Once  admit  that  there 
is  no  good  which  is  absolute,  and  independent  of  per- 
sonal interest,  and  a  promise  is  an  empty  word.  Now, 
a  promise  is  the  very  foundation  of  a  contract,  and  con- 
stitutes its  strength.  A  contract,  then,  between  two  such 
beings  as  Hobbes  supposes  men  to  be,  would  be  unmean- 
ing ;  for  to  agree  to  do  a  thing,  with  the  reservation  that 
we  need  not  do  it,  if  we  think  best,  is  not  to  make  a 
contract,  but  a  mere  mockery ;  and  if  this  were  the 
only  kind  of  engagement  possible  among  men,  the 
word  contract  would  not  be  found  in  any  language.  If 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  o!7 

Hobbes  pretends,  then,  to  establish  social  rights  and 
duties  upon  a  primitive  contract,  in  which  society 
originates,  he  has  deceived  himself;  for  contracts 
presuppose  duties,  and  a  system  excluding  duties,  d 
fortiori,  excludes  contracts.  But  it  is  much  to  be 
doubted  whether  Hobbes  had  any  such  intention,  as  we 
have  here  supposed.  His  whole  system  proves  how 
little  confidence  he  felt  in  the  obligation  of  any  con- 
tracts, and  how  low  he  estimated  them.  He  admitted 
two  possible  modes  in  which  society  might  originate ;  — 
first,  the  consent  of  the  individuals  combining  to  estab- 
lish it,  or,  in  other  words,  a  contract ;  and,  secondly,  the 
violent  enslavement  of  individuals  by  one  or  many,  that 
is  to  say,  the  right  of  the  strongest.  And  he  goes 
farther  ;  he  considers  one  form  of  society  as  legitimate 
as  the  other,  and  asserts  that  one  imposes  equal  duties 
upon  the  subject  with  the  other.  He  had  so  little  faith 
in  the  obligation  of  a  contract  that  he  trusted  wholly  in 
force  to  maintain  it.  And  finally,  according  to  Hobbes, 
government  has  a  perfect  right  to  disregard  the  contract 
in  which  it  originated  ;  it  is  equally  guiltless,  whether 
it  observes  or  violates  it.  Whether  it  is  founded  upon 
contract  or  force,  whether  it  benefits  or  injures  its 
subjects,  their  duty  remains  still  the  same.  Govern- 
ment may  do  wrong  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  and  may 
act  in  opposition  to  its  own  true  good,  but  it  still 
deserves  the  respect  and  the  obedience  of  the  subject. 
If  Hobbes  seriously  intended,  then,  to  establish  social 
duties  upon  contract,  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  make 
his  readers  disbelieve  him. 

Thus  you  see,  gentlemen,  that  the  word  contract,  in 
the  system  of  this   philosopher,  is  as  unmeaning  as  the 

B  s2 


318  JOUFFROV. 

words  duties  and  rights.  And  we  might  say  the  same 
of  the  word  society ;  for  what  is  society  but  a  visionary 
and  impracticable  thing,  if  men  are  really  such  beings 
as  Hobbes  pretends  ?  Society,  as  Hobbes  describes  it, 
is  not  a  society,  but  a  mere  constrained  juxtaposition 
of  individuals;  its  members  do  not  obey  ;  they  yield ; 
they  are  not  governed  by  authority,  but  by  force ;  the 
laws  which  restrain  them  are  chains;  and,  in  a  word, 
all  expressions  descriptive  of  the  grand  relations  origi- 
nating in  the  social  state,  lose  their  proper  meaning, 
and  assume  a  false  one,  when  applied  to  such  commu- 
nities as  Hobbes,  in  conformity  with  his  system,  ima- 
gines to  exist.  And  the  reason  for  this  is  plain  ;  a  true 
society  necessarily  implies  true  rights  and  duties,  true 
contracts  and  promises,  a  true  obedience  and  authority, 
true  laws,  —  each  and  all  of  which  are  impossible,  if 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  absolute  good.  Every  system 
which  suppresses  and  denies  the  moral  motive,  is 
forced,  then,  to  mutilate  at.  once  the  complex  idea  of 
society,  and  every  elementary  idea  which  this  pre- 
supposes and  includes. 

Is  this  saying  that  individual  interest  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  formation  of  society  ?  By  no  means.  If  a 
philosopher  should  profess  such  an  opinion,  he  would 
be  obliged  to  maintain,  first,  that  the  moral  motive  is 
the  only  motive  of  human  volitions,  and  that  the  selfish 
motive  neither  exists  nor  exercises  any  control  over  our 
actions ;  he  would  be  obliged,  in  other  words,  in  adopt- 
ing such  an  idea  of  society  and  its  constituent  laws,  to 
form  as  false,  though  an  entirely  opposite  conception  of 
a  human  being  as  Hobbes  has  done.  The  image  of  man 
must  resemble  the  reality  in  the  principles  of  a  system,  if 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  IIOBBES.  810 

we  would  have  its  practical  results  correspond  to  what 
we  actually  see  in  human  society.  When  we  recognize 
and  admit  all  the  elements  of  man's  nature,  his  con- 
duct arid  experience  are  easily  explained,  and  especially 
that  wonderful  phenomenon  which  we  call  society. 
The  communities  of  beavers  are  explicable  by  the 
nature  of  beavers,  and  human  communities  are  to  be 
accounted  for  by  the  principles  of  human  nature.  To 
form  an  accurate  idea,  therefore,  of  the  origin  and 
formation  of  human  society,  we  must  set  out  from 
a  correct  idea  of  human  nature ;  here  only  can  we 
find  true  light  to  guide  us  —  all  else  is  hypothesis  and 
contradiction. 

I  acknowledge  at  once  that  interest  has  much  to  do 
with  the  first  formation  of  society,  and  with  the  whole 
of  legislation  ;  and  it  would  be  very  absurd  to  deny 
it.  But  to  pretend,  on  the  other  hand,  with  Hobbes 
and  Bentham,  that  interest,  and  interest  alone,  is  the 
cause  of  the  foundation,  organization,  and  main- 
tenance of  society,  —  to  assert  that  this  principle 
of  our  nature  is  the  sole  end  of  all  law  and  right, — 
is  openly  to  contradict  real  facts  and  universal  common 
sense.  When  we  come  to  the  discussion  of  the 
science  of  jurisprudence,  I  will  point  'out  to  you 
the  respective  influence  of  the  principle  of  utility, 
arid  of  the  moral  principle,  in  the  work  of  legislation, 
and  will  enable  you  distinctly  to  apprehend  the 
peculiar  function  of  each.  I  limit  myself,  now,  to 
the  simple  statement  of  the  fact  that  both  of  these 
principles  concur  in  the  production  of  all  systems 
of  legislation,  and  that  he,  therefore,  who  attempts 
*o  explain  the  existence  of  society  by  the  operation 


320  JOUFFROY. 

of  one  of  these  principles  only,  mast  necessarily 
find  much  that  he  cannot  explain,  and  much  that 
he  will  mutilate  and  deform. 

It  will  not  be  unprofitable  for  us  to  reflect,  in 
conclusion,  upon  the  circumstances  which  led  Hobbes 
to  this  system  which  he  so  boldly  maintained,  which 
Bentham,  in  our  time,  has  reproduced,  and  which 
will  reappear,  again  and  again,  in  every  important 
era  of  the  history  of  philosophy,  because  fully  ex- 
pressing one  of  the  solutions  —  although  a  partial  and 
narrow  one  —  of  the  grand  moral  problem. 

Hobbes  lived  at  the  time  of  the  English  revolution. 
Chance,  and  perhaps  also  the  bias  of  his  character, 
threw  him  into  connection  with  the  party  in  favor 
of  absolute  power  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  party  of  the 
Stuarts.  The  sight  of  the  revolution  and  of  its  ex- 
cesses could  riot  but  have  the  effect  of  confirming  him 
in  his  principles  and  his  attachments.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  society  was  dissolved,  because  it  was  in  a  state 
of  revolution  ;  and  he  thought  he  saw  the  true  cause 
of  its  ruin  in  the  overturn  of  established  authority. 
He  was  led,  therefore,  to  the  conclusion,  that  societies 
can  exist,  and  men  live  in  peace,  only  where  power 
is  extremely  strong,  or,  in  other  words,  absolute ;  and 
he  could  not  conceive  that  order  was  possible  upon 
any  other  condition.  This  idea  was,  without  doubt, 
the  moving  spring  of  Hobbes's  philosophy ;  and  it 
was  under  its  influence  that  he  examined  the  laws 
of  human  nature,  and  of  the  origin  of  societies. 
Hobbes  was  not  a  remarkable  psychologist;  he  was 
-a  logician  ;  and  nothing  are  more  opposed  to  each 
other  than  logic  and  observation.  In  his  day,  psy- 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  321 

chology  was  in  its  cradle ;  philosophers  scarcely 
regarded  it  at  all ;  and  yet  it  is  impossible  to  answer 
questions  relative  to  human  nature,  if  we  are  ignorant 
of  the  laws  of  that  nature. 

Hobbes,  preoccupied  as  his  mind  was  with  favorite 
ideas,  and  passions,  and  interests,  found  in  man  just 
what  he  desired  to  find,  and  wholly  overlooked  what- 
ever contradicted  his  conclusions.  I  do  not  condemn 
him  on  this  account.  It  was  a  most  natural  thing 
for  him  to  do.  But  thus  it  was,  that  he  was  led 
to  the  adoption  of  the  strange  system  which  I  have 
described,  repugnant  as  it  is  to  all  the  facts  of  our 
nature,  and  to  all  the  notions  of  common  sense. 
Others  professed  similar  ideas  at  the  same  time;  but 
no  one  manifested,  in  the  expression  of  them,  equal 
vigor  and  intellectual  superiority.  Among  such  writers 
were  two  of  eminence,  both  natives  of  France.  The 
first  was  Larochefoucauld,  the  author  of  the  Maximes. 
It  would  be  unjust,  I  think,  to  consider  the  author 
of  the  Maximes  chargeable  with  all  the  extravagances 
of  Hobbes.  The  only  object  of  this  intelligent  man 
and  admirable  writer  was  to  show,  that  there  are  but 
few  actions  —  even  among  those  apparently  the  most 
disinterested  and  virtuous  —  which  might  not  be  dic- 
tated by  a  selfish  motive.  Between  such  a  view  as 
this,  and  the  view  that  every  human  action  is  abso- 
lutely inspired  by  selfishness,  there  is  a  very  wide 
distinction.  It  was  the  aim  of  Larochefoucauld  to 
unmask,  in  every  possible  way,  hypocrisy  of  conduct, 
and  to  examine  strictly  the  motives  in  which  acts 
originated,  before  pronouncing  them  virtuous :  he 
<nade  war  upon  appearances,  and  was  inclined,  per- 


322  JOUFFROY. 

haps,  to  attribute  too  much  influence  to  selfishness 
in  the  determinations  of  human  choice.  Thus  far 
Larochefoucauld  did  undoubtedly  go ;  but  this  is  all 
that  is  taught  or  necessarily  implied  in  his  Maximes, 
and  I  do  not  think  we  can  justly  attribute  to  him  a 
deeper  meaning. 

The  second  philosopher  referred  to,  of  whom  it  is 
unnecessary  to  say  much,  was  Helvetius ;  in  whose 
book,  entitled  De  L?  Esprit,  we  find  all  the  ethical 
maxims  of  Hobbes  clearly  and  positively  announced. 
Helvetius  did  not  hesitate  at  all  to  declare,  that  man's 
only  motive  for  choice  is  the  pursuit  of  pleasure 
and  the  dread  of.  pain ;  and  he  boldly  deduced  the 
consequences  of  his  principle.  Helvetius  was  the 
child  of  Condillac ;  the  morality  of  the  former  sprung 
from  the  metaphysics  of  the  latter.  And,  indeed, 
if  we  once  admit  that  sensation  is  the  germ  of  all 
knowledge,  we  can  scarcely  avoid  the  conclusion  that 
agreeable  sensations  are  the  germ  of  all  good.  The 
doctrine  is  in  both  cases  precisely  the  same ;  it  is 
only  transferred  from  the  intellect  to  the  will. 

Like  many  other  authors  of  bad  systems,  Helvetius 
was  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world ;  and  his  object 
in  writing  his  book  was  much  more  to  exhibit  talent 
than  to  establish  truth ;  and  in  this  he  certainly  suc- 
ceeded. No  doctrine  could  offer  a  better  opportunity 
for  that  skilful  introduction  of  brilliant  expression 
and  piquant  anecdote,  which  renders  the  book  De 
L' Esprit  at  once  so  entertaining,  yet  so  full  of  melan- 
choly suggestions. 

Few  philosophers  have  been  of  greater  service  than 
Hobbes.  Many  writers,  who  have  given  a  mutilated 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. HOBBES.  323 

and  imperfect  representation  of  human  nature,  have 
so  wrapped  it  up  and  veiled  it  by  want  of  precision 
of  thought  and  expression,  that  it  is  difficult  to  dis- 
cover what  errors  they  have  made ;  and,  as  to  the 
consequences  of  their  principles,  sometimes  they  do 
not  perceive  them  themselves,  or,  if  perceiving  them, 
they  do  not  dare  to  push  them  to  extreme  results.  Not 
so  with  Hobbes.  He  folds  his  system  in  no  orna- 
mental drapery ;  his  style  is  perfectly  simple,  clear, 
•and  dry;  he  never  employs  an  unnecessary  word  in 
expressing  his  thought;  and  there  is  no  possibility 
of  misunderstanding  either  the  meaning  of  his  lan- 
guage or  the  scope  of  his  arguments.  But  this  is 
not  his  only  merit  After  distinctly  exhibiting  his 
principle,  he  unhesitatingly  deduces  from  it  all  its 
consequences ;  he  fears  not  to  admit  and  to  maintain 
all  that  necessarily  results  from  it,  destructive  though 
it  may  seem  to  morality,  freedom,  and  society.  In 
reading  Hobbes,  we  are  compelled  to  acknowledge 
the  justice  of  his  conclusions,  and  to  grant  that  we 
must  either  adopt  them  or  reject  his  principle  alto- 
gether. Now,  this,  gentlemen,  is  rendering  a  great 
service  to  the  cause  of  science.  It  is  only  when  a 
partial  and  imperfect  system  is  exhibited  with  clearness 
and  boldness,  that  we  can  hope  to  expose  and  refute  it. 
So  long  as  a  system  is  enveloped  in  mystification,  it 
may  be  tolerated,  however  detestable  its  character; 
but  the  instant  when  its  revolting  consequences  are 
laid  bare,  we  are  constrained  to  inquire  whether 
or  not  it  is  founded  on  truth.  This  is  exactly  what 
occurred  with  regard  to  the  system  of  selfishness. 
Hobbes's  exposition  brought  out  so  broadly  all  its 


324  JOUFFROY. 

consequences,  that  the  philosophers  of  his  time  were 
led  to  scrutinize  severely  his  principle ;  and  they  were 
not  long  in  discovering  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  muti- 
lating and  deforming  human  nature ;  and  hence  arose 
that  deep  study  of  psychology  which  has,  in  our  day, 
brought  so  clearly  to  view  the  true  elements  of  our 
moral  being.  And  thus  to  Hobbes's  exertions  we 
are  indebted  for  a  distinctness  and  completeness  in 
the  sciences  of  politics,  ethics,  and  psychology,  which, 
but  for  his  writings,  we  might  long  have  wanted. 


OF    VOL.    1. 


INTRODUCTION 

TO 

ETHICS 

INCLUDING    A 

CRITICAL   SURVEY    OF  MORAL   SYSTEMS. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 

t 
OF 

JOUFFROY. 
BY   WILLIAM    H.    CHANN1NQ 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  II. 


BOSTON  AND  CAMBRIDGE  : 
JAMES    MUNROE    AND    COMPANY. 

M.DCCC.LVIII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1840, 

By  HILLIARD,  GRAY,  AND  Co. 
tn  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CONTENTS 


VOLUME   SECOND 


LECTURE  XIIL  ^ ^ 

THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  —  BENTHAM t      .      .       .         3 

LECTURE  XIV. 
THE   SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED ,       ....      35 

LECTURE  XV. 
THE    SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED •      .      .      80 

LECTURE  XVI. 
THE    SENTIMENTAL   SYSTEM.— SMITH 98 

LECTURE  XVII. 
THE   SAME    SUBJECT   CONTINUED 120 

LECTURE  XVIII. 
THE    SAME    SUBJECT   CONTINUED 152 

LECTURE  XIX. 
THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. —  SYSTEM  OF  THE  MORAL  SENSE.    177 


Vlii  CONTENTS    OF    VOLUME    SECOND. 

LECTURE  XX.  Pa?<5 

THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM    CONCLUDED 202 

LEJTURE  XXL 
THE   RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  —  PRICE.      ...  237 

LECTURE  XXII. 
THE   RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  —  CRITICISM    OF    PRICE 274 

LECTURE  XXIII. 
THE    SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED 306 

LECTURE  XXIV. 

RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  —  WOLLASTON.  —  CLARKE   AND    MONTES- 
QUIEU.  MALEBRANCHE. WCLF 334 


J  O  L)  F  F  K  O  V 


JOUFFROY. 


LECTURE    XIII. 

THE  SELFISH  SYSTEM.  —  BENTHAM. 

GENTLEMEN, 

BY  the  plan  marked  out  for  this  course  of 
lectures,  I  should,  perhaps,  —  having  exhibited  the 
selfish  system  under  the  form  in  which  Hobbes  pre- 
sented it,  —  pass  at  once  to  the  consideration  of  some 
new  system,  without  stopping  to  discuss  any  other 
form  which  it  has  assumed.  But  I  feel  that  I  ought 
to  make  an  exception  with  regard  to  one  philosopher  — 
I  mean  Bentham.  The  justly-acquired  celebrity  which 
this  remarkable  jurist  enjoyed  during  his  lifetime, 
and  which  will  long  endure,  as  well  as  the  practical 
influence  which  his  opinions  and  writings  have  exerted 
on  his  own  country  and  on  several  parts  of  Europe, 
justify  me  in  making  this  digression.  And  you,  gen- 
tlemen, I  am  sure,  will  not  regret  to  follow  me. 

All,  who  desire  to  obtain  a  clear  and  correct  idea 
of  Bentham's  system  and  opinions,  should  read  the 
work  in  which  he  has  himself  exhibited  his  philosophy. 
It  was  published  in  1789,  although  it  had  been  printed 


4  JOUFFROY. 

nine  years  before,  and  is  entitled,  "  An  Introduction 
to  the  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation,"  In  this 
work,  Beritham,  who  was,  by  nature,  nowise  a  meta- 
physician, has  endeavored  to  ascend  to  the  philosoph- 
ical principles  from  which  his  system  was  drawn. 
It  is  little  known  among  us,  and  has  never  been 
translated.  Our  only  acquaintance  with  Bentham  is 
through  his  detached  minor  pieces,  and  the  exact  and 
lucid  exposition  of  his  opinions,  given  by  M.  Dumont 
of  Geneva,  in  three  volumes,  under  the  title  of 
Traits  de  la  Legislation  Civile  et  Penale.  No  one 
can  estimate  more  highly  than  I  do  this  admirable 
work,  or  feel  more  sensible  of  the  service  which  has 
been  rendered,  in  substituting,  for  the  concise  and  rude 
forms  of  speech  which  Bentham  adopted,  a  clear  and 
agreeable  style  of  expression.  But  still,  in  this  case, 
as  in  all  others,  we  should  consult  the  author  himself, 
if  we  would  really  be  acquainted  with  his  opinions; 
and  I  repeat,  therefore,  that  the  original  work  of 
Bentham,  above  mentioned,  is  the  true  source  to 
which  our  inquiries  should  be  directed. 

It  may  not  be  amiss,  if  I  add  to  this  mention  of  his 
works  a  slight  sketch  of  their  general  character  and 
spirit. 

We  may  designate  in  two  words  the  distinctive 
trait  of  Bentham's  philosophy,  and  at  the  same  time 
its  fundamental  principle,  by  saying  that  Bentham 
was  not  a  metaphysician,  but  a  jurist.  This  distinc- 
tion explains,  as  it  appears  to  me,  both  the  direction 
which  his  ideas  assumed,  and  the  peculiar  character- 
istics of  his  manner.  Allow  me,  in  a  few  words,  to 
illustrate  my  meaning. 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  5 

No  one  would  say,  that  it  was  the  duty  of  the 
legislator  to  pay  no  regard  to  the  moral  quality  — 
the  good  or  ill  desert  of  actions.  On  the  contrary, 
he  is  bound  to  consider  this  deeply;  and  he  is  no 
legislator  who  neglects  to  do  so.  This  is  so  plain, 
that  even  Bentham  himself,  as  I  shall  by  and  by  have 
occasion  to  show,  is  unable  to  explain  existing  laws, 
or  any  laws,  except  upon  this  hypothesis.  If  legisla- 
tors, in  connecting  penalties  with  actions,  had  refer- 
ence only  to  the  evil  which  society  incurs,  penal 
laws  would  be  very  different  from  what  they  now  are. 
The  principle  of  exactly  proportioning  penalties  to 
the  injury  done  to  society,  would  produce  a  scale  of 
punishments  very  unlike  to  any  thing  which  we  find 
in  any  code  whatever.  And  a  sole  regard  to  the 
interests  of  society  would  not,  in  the  least,  require 
the  precautions  with  which  the  execution  of  these 
laws  is  guarded,  and  the  various  guaranties  which 
protect  the  criminal.  If  you  will  open  any  criminal 
code,  you  will  find  many  regulations,  showing  that 
regard  is  paid  as  well  to  the  moral  quality  of  acts  as 
to  the  interests  of  society ;  and  this  I  shall  fully  es- 
tablish, I  hope,  when  I  come  to  the  discussion  of 
social  ethics.  And  yet,  gentlemen,  notwithstanding 
this,  it  is  perfectly  true,  that  the  real  object,  —  the 
peculiar  and  immediate  object  —  of  all  law  is  the  pre- 
vention of  such  acts  as  may  injure  society.  It  is  the 
interest  of  society  which  occupies  the  attention  of  the 
legislator,  and  all  his  efforts  are  directed  to  its 
preservation.  The  end  at  which  the  jurist  aims, 
therefore,  is  an  entirely  different  one  from  that  of  the 
moralist. 


6  JOUFFROY. 

This  point  being  established,  gentlemen,  it  is  very 
easy  to  understand  how  a  jurist  may  be  led  to  regard 
human  actions  under  the  single  aspect  of  their  influ- 
ence upon  society,  until  he  conceives  that  this  is 
the  only  mode  of  judging  them,  and  learns  to  apply, 
in  his  estimate  of  their  morality,  the  same  test  and 
principle  by  which  he  determines  their  legality. 
Every  candid  jurist  would  probably  confess,  that  he 
was  obliged  to  guard  himself  against  such  a  tendency. 
But  Bentham,  being  peculiarly  a  jurist,  and  in  no 
sense  a  philosopher,  did  not  guard  himself  from  this 
tendency :  he  yielded  to  it,  and  was  thus  led  to  believe 
and  support  the  principle,  that  the  only  difference  to 
be  distinguished  between  acts,  is  the  degree  in  which 
their  consequences  are  beneficial  or  injurious ;  and 
that  utility,  therefore,  is  the  only  test  by  which  they 
can  be  judged. 

Another  peculiarity  of  a  jurist,  which  is  also  char- 
acteristic of  Bentham,  is,  that  he  lays  down  his  axiom 
of  utility  as  the  test  of  the  moral  quality  of  actions, 
without  supporting  it  by  any  psychological  examina- 
tion of  the  motives  of  human  volition ;  as  if  philoso- 
phy was  nowise  concerned  in  such  a  proposition,  and 
could  furnish  no  evidence  either  to  confirm  or  to 
overthrow  it.  And  in  this  respect  it  must  be  allowed, 
that  there  is  a  great  difference  between  Hobbes  and 
Bentham,  and  that  the  former  has  here  greatly  the 
advantage.  Hobbes  does  not  attempt  to  establish  the 
selfish  principle  until  he  has,  as  he  supposes,  thor- 
oughly analyzed  human  nature;  until,  from  psycho- 
logical examination,  he  has  arrived  at  the  conclusion, 
that  the  only  difference  between  actions  consists  in 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  7 

their  fitness  to  produce  pleasure  or  pain.  Following 
this  method,  Hobbes  discusses  the  purely  scientific 
question,  and  seeks  to  determine  the  motives  by  which, 
in  the  depths  of  our  consciousness,  actions  are  deter- 
mined and  influenced;  or,  in  other  words,  the  nature 
and  number  of  those  considerations,  by  which  we  are 
led  to  prefer  certain  courses  of  corfduct  to  others,  and 
thus  to  pass  judgment  upon  them.  This  is  the  true 
scientific  problem,  to  be  examined  and  solved,  before 
we  can  be  justified  in  asserting  what  is,  or  is  not,  the 
proper  test  of  the  moral  quality  of  actions.  Hobbes 
has  examined,  discussed,  and  solved  this  problem,  and 
deduced  his  system  from  this  solution ;  while  Ben- 
tham  seems  never  to  have  suspected  even  that  there 
was  such  a  problem  to  be  solved ;  for  the  very  first 
step  he  takes  is  to  lay  down  as  an  axiom  a  particular 
solution  of  this  problem,  as  if  it  was  really  no  problem 
at  all.  I  am  justified  by  this  second  consideration, 
therefore,  in  saying,  that  Bentham  was  not  a  philoso- 
pher, but  a  jurist. 

Another  characteristic  of  Bentham,  Which  also  jus- 
tifies me  in  saying  this,  was  the  singular  notion  which 
he  cherished  of  the  novelty  and  originality  of  his 
system.  Ignorant,  indeed,  must  he  have  been  of  the 
whole  history  of  philosophy  to  suppose  this.  The 
doctrine  of  utility  a  new  one!  Why,  it  existed  in 
Greece  even  before  the  time  of  the  sophists,  who 
preceded  Socrates,  and  was  reduced  to  a  system  of 
unequalled  perfection  by  Epicurus,  who  as  much  sur- 
passed Hobbes,  as  a  philosopher,  as  Hobbes  did  Ben- 
tham. The  originality  of  Bentham's  system  is  not 
in  the  principle  on  which  it  is  founded,  but  in  the 


8  JOUFFROY. 

application  of  this  principle  to  legislation.  And  here, 
I  take  at  once  the  opportunity  of  saying,  Beritham 
has,  indeed,  displayed  a  true  superiority  of  mind,  and 
has  rendered  lasting  services  to  the  human  race.  If 
Bentham  showed  any  originality  in  his  mode  of  pre- 
senting the  ancient  selfish  system,  it  was  in  the  bold- 
ness with  which  he^professed  it.  He  disguised  in  no 
way  his  principle  of  utility;  he  paid  no  respect  to 
those  other  principles  of  conduct,  which  the  majority 
of  mankind  have  united  in  reverencing  ;  but  he  laid 
down  his  principle,  naked  and  bare,  as  the  only  motive 
from  which  men  really  act  ;  he  treated  all  other 
principles  of  our  nature  only  with  ridicule  and  con- 
tempt ;  and  once  having  established  his  principle,  he 
frankly  and  unhesitatingly  admitted  its  legitimate  con- 
sequences. 

It  was  this  boldness,  gentlemen,  in  which  Bentham 
was  really  original,  that  gained  for  him  such  fanatical 
supporters  and  warm  opponents.  No  one  could  be 
the  friend  or  foe  of  such  a  philosopher  by  halves. 
And  thus  the*  life  of  Bentham  was  one  continued 
controversy;  and  his  followers  have  been,  in  charac- 
ter, a  sect.  This  has  been  owing,  I  repeat,  to  the 
peculiar  disposition  of  Bentham,  carried  into  his  sys- 
tem,—  to  the  intrepidity  with  which  he  professed  a 
principle  that  shocks  not  only  the  good  sense  of 
men,  but  still  more  the  most  elevated  principles  of 
our  nature,  and  which  he,  nevertheless,  has  admitted, 
with  all  its  consequences,  boldly,  and  without  flinching. 
In  this  respect,  Bentham  and  Hobbes  were  on  a  level, 
fellow-countrymen  as  they  were.  With  a  true  English 
spirit,  they  were  equally  fearless  and  frank  in  express- 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  9 

ing  their  opinions,  however  opposed  they  might  he 
to  the  common  sense  of  mankind. 

Thus  much  I  have  thought  it  well  to  say  of  the  gen- 
eral character  of  Bentham's  system.  It  remains  for 
me  now  rapidly  to  exhibit  his  leading  doctrines,  and  the 
principal  consequences  which  he  deduced  from  them. 
Arid  this  I  will  attempt  to  do  in  as  few  words  and  as 
distinctly  as  possible. 

In  Bentham's  view,  all  actions  and  objects  would  be 
equally  indifferent,  if  they  had  not  the  property  of  pro- 
ducing pleasure  or  pain.  This  property  is  the  only  one 
by  which  we  can  distinguish  or  judge  them.  We  seek 
or  avoid  objects,  we  desire  or  oppose  actions,  with  a 
single  reference  to  this.  The  desire  of  pleasure  and 
the  fear  of  pain  are  the  only  possible  motives  which  can 
determine  human  conduct;  and,  consequently,  pleasure 
is  the  only  object  of  pursuit,  and  the  sole  end  of  human 
existence.  These  principles  are,  as  you  see,  perfectly 
identical  with  those  of  Hobbes,  and,  indeed,  are  only  a 
repetition  of  them.  But,  as  I  have  just  shown,  Hobbes 
proves,  or  attempts  to  prove,  them ;  Bentham  regards 
them  as  axioms  ;  and  instead  of  wasting  time  in  endeav- 
oring to  establish  them,  he  leaves  them  to  rest  upon 
what  to  him  appears  to  be  their  self-evident  truth. 

As  Bentham  thus  makes  no  attempt  to  prove  the 
justness  of  his  principle,  and  offers  us  no  means  for 
testing  the  soundness  of  its  foundation,  let  us  for  our- 
selves inquire  whether  this  principle  does  really  need  no 
proof,  and  whether  it  is  true  that  it  cannot  be  proved. 

In  all  science,  says  Bentham,  we  must  set  out  from 
some  truth  or  fact,  which  admits  of  no  proof,  and 
whence,  as  from  a  fountain,  all  reasonings  flow.-  We, 


10  JOUFFROY. 

of  course,  admit  this  assertion  in  its  full  extent ;  for  it 
is  plain,  that  if  there  was  no  one  truth  which  required 
no  proof,  nothing  whatever  could  be  proved  ;  for  a 
proof  is  an  established  and  acknowledged  truth ;  and 
therefore,  if  it  is  necessary  that  this  truth  itself  shall 
be  proved,  there  can  be  no  proof  of  any  thing.  We 
have,  then,  to  inquire  whether,  when  a  philosopher  af- 
firms that  a  certain  motive  governs  all  human  determina- 
tions, he  is  advancing  one  of  these  principles,  which,  by 
their  very  nature,  neither  can  nor  need  be  demonstrated. 
If  a  natural  philosopher  was  discussing  the  question 
whether  the  currents  of  air  in  a  certain  country  follow 
several  or  only  one  direction,  would  he  have  the  right 
to  assume,  in  support  of  his  own  theory,  that  no  proof 
was  required  or  could  be  offered  on  the  subject  ? 
Certainly  not.  The  reply  would  instantly  be  made,  that 
this  was  a  question  of  fact  to  be  determined  by  observa- 
tion of  the  wind,  through  ten,  twenty,  or  any  number 
of  years,  and  that  only  after  such  observation  could  it 
be  known,  whether  the  wind  blew  always  in  one  direc- 
tion, or  in  several  directions.  Far  from  being  allowed 
to  take  a  solution  for  granted,  without  supporting  it  by 
proofs,  the  natural  philosopher  would  be  bound  to 
establish  it  upon  numerous  and  exact  observations ;  for 
the  question  would  be  one  of  facts.  And  if  he  neg- 
lected to  rest  his  theory  upon  such  observations,  it 
would  be  valueless.  The  case  is  precisely  similar  with 
regard  to  the  question  discussed  by  Benthain,  and  the 
solution  which  he  has  given  of  it.  What  is  the  only 
motive,  or  what  are  the  various  motives,  which  deter- 
mine the  human  will  ?  This  is  the  question.  The 
will  of  man  is  active ;  it  is  passing  through  the  process 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BE  NTH  AM.  11 

of  volition  continually  ;  the  motives  by  which  it  is  gov- 
erned can  be  observed  ;  we  can  judge  by  observation 
whether  these  motives  are  numerous,  or  whether  there 
is  only  one.  It  is,  therefore,  folly  to  say,  when  an 
answer  is  given  to  this  question,  that  it  cannot,  and 
need  not,  be  proved.  It  certainly  can  be  proved  from 
experience  ;  it  ought  to  be  so  proved  ;  for  this  answer, 
far  from  being  generally  admitted,  is  often  disputed. 
You  assert  that  the  love  of  pleasure  or  the  fear  of 
pain  is  the  only  motive  to  human  volition.  Others 
deny  it.  This  would  not  be  the  case  if  your  assertion 
represented  an  incontestable  fact,  a  primary  truth,  which 
neither  could,  nor  need,  be  proved.  It  is  plain,  there- 
fore, that  it  can,  and  must,  be  proved,  and  that  it  must 
be  supported  by  a  reference  to  human  nature.  To  this 
nature  belongs  the  fact  of  volition.  It  is  from  observ- 
ing this  fact,  then,  that  we  are  to  determine  whether  it 
is  governed  by  one,  or  by  several,  motives.  If  by  one, 
then  the  assertion  is  a  true  one ;  if  by  several,  it  is 
false.  And  observation,  which  is  the  natural  proof  of 
solutions  of  all  moral  questions,  must  decide.  If  we 
had  no  other  means  for  ascertaining  the  character 
of  Bentham,  as  a  philosopher,  than  this  single  fact, 
that  he  considers  it  impossible  and  unnecessary  to 
prove  his  favorite  assertion,  that  the  love  of  pleasure 
or  the  fear  of  pain  is  the  only  motive  of  human 
choice,  it  would  be  sufficient  to  convince  us  that  his 
philosophical  ability  was  but  slight. 

You  see,  from  what  has  now  been  said,  that  the 
principle  of  utility  rests,  in  Bentham's  mind,  upon  his 
theory  of  human  volition.  He  condescends,  indeed, 
to  announce  this  theory ;  but,  far  from  attempting  to 


12  JOUFFROY. 

demonstrate  its  truth,  he  denies  that  it  can  be  demon- 
strated ;  and  this  is  an  assumption  which  no  one  who 
knows  any  thing  of  the  subject  can  admit. 

Such  are  the  great  principles  of  Bentham's  system. 
We  hasten  now  to  consider  the  conclusions  which  he 
draws  from  them. 

And,  first,  he  is  led  to  make  certain  definitions. 
Setting  out  from  the  assumed  truth,  that  the  love  of 
pleasure  or  the  fear  of  pain  is  the  sole  motive  of 
action,  he  determines  the  true  meaning  to  be  given  to 
all  words  in  use  among  moral  philosophers,  and  attaches 
a  precise  definition  to  certain  words,  which  he  adapts 
and  peculiarly  appropriates  to  the  explanation  of  his 
own  ideas.  Let  me  present  you  with  some  examples. 

Bentham  defines  utility,  —  the  property  of  any  act  or 
object  to  increase  the  sum  of  happiness,  or  to  lessen 
the  amount  of  suffering,  in  the  individual,  or  the  body 
of  individuals,  acted  upon. 

Now,  if  this  is  the  true  definition  of  utility,  and  if 
utility,  according  to  Bentham's  fundamental  principle, 
so  openly  proclaimed,  is  the  only  quality  by  which 
actions  can  be  judged  and  distinguished,  it  follows,  as 
a  necessary  consequence,  that  this  is  the  only  sense  in 
which  we  can  employ,  or  understand,  such  expressions 
as  the  lawfulness  of  an  action,  the  justice  of  an  action, 
the  goodness,  or  morality,  of  an  action.  Either,  then. 
says  Bentham,  we  must  use  these  words  in  this  accepta- 
tion, or  use  them  without  any  meaning  at  all ;  and  in 
this  he  is  perfectly  consistent  with  the  principles  of  his 
system. 

With  equal  distinctness  Bentham  defines  what  should 
be  understood  by  the  principle  of  utility.  The  prin- 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  13 

ciple  of  utility,  he  says,  is  that  which  determines 
the  quality  of  actions  by  their  twofold  property  of 
adding  to  the  happiness  or  suffering  of  individuals 
or  of  communities.  Such  is  the  strict  definition  of 
the  principle  of  utility.  The  definitions  of  a  useful 
action,  a  useful  measure,  or  a  useful  law,  and  con- 
sequently of  all  good,  just,  and  legitimate  acts, 
measures,  and  laws,  are  deduced  naturally  from  it. 

Bentham,  desirous  to  have  no  blind  disciples,  either 
self-deceived  or  liable  to  be  deceived,  next  proceeds 
to  define  the  conditions  by  which  it  can  be  deter- 
mined whether  a  person  is  a  supporter  or  opponent 
of  the  principle  of  utility ;  or,  what  comes  to  the 
same  thing,  the  conditions  by  which  it  may  be  known 
whether  a  person  follows  his  standard.  He  who  is 
guided,  in  his  approval  or  disapproval  of  acts  or 
objects,  by  the  sole  consideration  of  their  beneficial 
or  injurious  properties,  and  who  proportions  his  appro- 
bation or  disapprobation  to  the  degree  in  which  they 
possess  these  properties,  without  admitting  any  other 
consideration  whatever  to  influence  his  judgment, — 
such  a  one  may  justly  be  considered  a  disciple,  and 
a  frienc  of  the  principle  of  utility.  But  he,  on  the 
contrary,  who  pays  the  least  regard,  —  no  matter  how 
small,  —  to  any  other  test,  in  making  up  his  judgments, 
is  not  only  not  a  follower,  but  a  foe,  and  full  as 
much  so  as  any  who  entirely  reject  and  oppose  the 
principle  of  utility. 

According  to  Bentham's  principle,  the  true  interest 
of  the  individual  is  the  greatest  sum  of  happiness 
which  he  is  capable  of  attaining,  and  the  true  interest 
of  society  is  the  greatest  sum  of  happiness  of  all 


J4  JOUFFROY. 

the  individuals  who  constitute  it.  These  various 
definitions  are  all  naturally  derived  from  the  main 
principle,  and  are  so  obvious  that  it  is  scarcely  neces- 
sary thus  to  deduce  them.  But  Bentham,  fond  as  he 
was  of  precise  notions  and  distinct  statements,  has 
minutely  carried  out  a  long  series  of  definitions,  into 
the  detail  of  which  it  is  quite  unnecessary  that  we 
should  follow  him. 

His  own  system  being  thus  established,  Bentham 
turns  to  the  consideration  of  such  principles  as  are 
either  opposed  to  or  distinct  from  that  of  utility ; 
and  of  these  he  recognizes  only  two  —  first,  the 
ascetic  principle,  or  asceticism ;  and,  second,  the 
principle  of  sympathy  or  antipathy  —  as  he  denomi- 
nates them.  It  is  important  that  we  should  distinctly 
understand  what  Bentham's  conception  was  of  these 
two  principles;  because,  according  to  him,  all  systems 
of  ethics  and  legislation,  which  do  not  set  out  from 

O  ' 

the  principle  of  utility,  are  derived  necessarily  and 
invariably  from  one  or  the  other  of  these  two  prin- 
ciples. 

Bentham  defines  the  ascetic  principle  to  be  a  prin- 
ciple which,  like  that  of  utility,  determines  actions 
to  be  worthy  of  approbation  or  disapprobation,  accord- 
ing to  their  property  of  producing  pleasure  or  pain, 
but  which,  unlike  that  of  utility,  pronounces  those 
good  which  are  productive  of  pain,  and  those  evil 
which  are  productive  of  pleasure.  This  definition 
certainly  has  point,  but,  unfortunately,  it  lacks  truth ; 
for  Bentham  has  mistaken  an  opinion  that  is  merely 
accidental,  and  accessory  to  asceticism,  for  the  prin- 
ciple itself.  It  is  quite  plain,  that,  by  asceticism, 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  15 

Bentham  means  that  solution  of  the  problem  of  human 
destiny  which  I  have  described  to  you  as  mysticism  — 
a  system  which  does,  in  conduct,  often  lead  its  pro- 
fessors to  a  course  of  conduct  resembling  that  de- 
scribed by  Bentham.  That  such  a  course  of  conduct 
is  a  mistaken  one,  I  readily  agree ;  but  I  entirely 
deny  that  it  originates  in  the  opinion  that  pleasure 
is  an  evil  or  pain  a  good.  There  have,  indeed,  been 
sects  and  individuals,  who  have  taught  that  pleasure 
and  pain  are  things  of  no  consequence,  and  that  it  is 
a  matter  of  indifference  which  we  experience ;  but 
there  never  have  existed  any,  who  have  laid  it  down 
as  a  principle,  that  an  action  is  bad,  because  it  is 
followed  by  pleasure,  or  good,  because  accompanied 
by  pain.  Such  an  absurdity  has  never  found  sup- 
porters, and  the  mystics  are  wholly  guiltless  of  it. 
1  have  explained  to  you,  at  such  length  that  I  need 
not  now  go  over  the  ground  again,  the  reasonings 
by  which  the  mystics  were  led  to  acts  analogous  to 
those  attributed  to  them  by  Bentham ;  but  those  rea- 
sonings were  very  different  from  the  ones  assigned. 

Still  Bentham  does  thus  define  the  principle  of 
asceticism ;  and,  positive  here  as  elsewhere,  he  asserts, 
that  whoever  voluntarily  sacrifices  an  atom  of  pleasure, 
as  such,  and  condemns  it,  is  therefore  a  partisan  of 
the  ascetic  school.  Such  a  declaration  manifests, 
yet  more  strongly,  that  he  regarded  his  principle  as 
absolute  and  unconditional.  It  follows  necessarily 
from  this, —  and,  recoiling  from  no  consequence  what- 
ever, he  admits,  —  that  every  kind  of  pleasure,  without 
exception,  is  good  in  itself;  and,  to  show  you  how 
far  he  was  willing  to  go,  he  takes,  as  an  example 


16  JOUFFROY. 

the  most  abominable  pleasure  which  an  abandoned 
villain  could  feel  in  the  commission  of  a  crime,  and 
says,  unhesitatingly,  that  he  who  finds  fault  with  such 
pleasure,  and  condemns  or  repels  it,  io  just  so  far, 
and  by  so  doing,  an  ascetic.  The  pleasure,  according 
to  Bentham,  is  not  bad  as  pleasure,  but  is  good ; 
for  all  pleasure  is  good.  In  what  sense,  then,  can 
it  be  considered  bad  1  In  this  sense  only,  that  the 
threatening  consequences  of  the  crime  will  produce 
so  much  suffering  as  entirely  to  overbalance  the 
pleasure  experienced.  It  is  not  on  account,  therefore, 
of  the  wickedness  of  the  crime,  that  he  condemns 
the  pleasure  which  the  bad  man  takes  in  its  com- 
mission, but  solely  because  its  results  will  be  injurious. 
Such,  says  Bentham,  is  the  true  meaning  of  the 
human  mind,  when  it  declares  delight  in  crime  to 
be  bad;  and  the  man  who  condemns  this  delight  on 
any  other  ground  is  an  ascetic. 

Let  us  turn,  now,  to  the  other  principle  which 
Bentham  refers  to  —  the  principle  of  sympathy  and 
antipathy.  Under  this  general  name  he  classes  all 
moral  judgments,  by  which  we  determine  that  an 
action  is  good  or  bad,  independently  of  a  consideration 
of  its  consequences.  Thus  every  moral  philosopher, 
who  decides  upon  the  moral  quality  of  an  act  upon 
any  ground  whatever  except  that  of  its  utility,  adopts 
the  principle  of  sympathy  or  antipathy.  You  see 
at  once  what  a  variety  of  systems  come  under  Ben- 
tham's  second  category.  There  are  moral  philosophers, 
for  instance,  who  have  asserted  that  man  is  endowed 
with  a  moral  sense,  which  perceives  the  good  or  evil 
of  actions,  exactly  as  the  taste  perceives  flavors,  01 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM    • — BENTHAM.  17 

the  smell  odors.  This  was  the  doctrine  of  Hutcheson, 
and  of  many  others.  Whoever  admits  this  to  be 
true,  asserts  that  the  moral  quality  of  acts  is  not 
determined  by  a  reference  to  their  consequences ; 
or,  in  other  words,  he  teaches  that  approbation  and 
disapprobation  have  no  reference  to  the  consequences 
of  acts,  but  are  independent  of  this  consideration. 
Such  a  principle  as  this  comes,  of  course,  under 
the  general  principle  of  sympathy  and  antipathy,  as 
one  of  its  forms.  The  same  may  be  said  of  philoso- 
phers who  have  maintained  that  there  is  a  natural 
distinction  between  good  and  evil  —  a  distinction 
recognized  by  reason,  and  instantly  perceived  as  the 
characteristic  of  every  act,  by  which  its  moral  quality 
is  judged,  independently  of  its  beneficial  or  injurious 
consequences.  Of  course,  this  principle,  which  is 
the  foundation  of  various  systems,  comes  under  Ben- 
tham's  second  category.  Again,  they  who  think  that 
we  have  in  our  minds  an  innate  and  primitive  law, 
variously  denominated  the  law  of  nature,  the  moral 
law,  the  law  of  duty,  which  immediately  judges  actions 
as  they  occur,  and  decides  that  they  are  either  good  or 
bad,  in  proportion  as  they  agree  with  or  contradict  it, — 
all  philosophers  who  think  this,  adopt,  according  to 
Bentham,  the  principle  of  sympathy  and  antipathy. 
And,  lastly,  they  who  think,  with  me,  that  acts  are 
good  which  conform  to  universal  order,  and  that 
acts  are  bad  which  conflict  with  it,  as  they  pay  no 
regard  to  the  consequences  which  may  result  from 
them,  adopt  also  the  principle  of  sympathy  and  an- 
tipathy. 

Bentham  recognizes,  therefore,  only  two  principles 


18  JOUFFROY. 

of  moral  qualification  —  or,  in  other  words,  only  two 
moral  systems  —  distinct  from  his  own ;  and  these 
are,  first,  the  system  which,  like  that  of  utility, 
judges  of  acts  by  their  consequences,  but  pronounces 
those  good  which  produce  pain,  and  those  evil  which 
produce  pleasure,  or  the  ascetic  system ;  and,  secondly, 
the  system  which  judges  of  the  moral  quality  of  acts 
on  some  other  ground,  whatsoever  it  may  be,  beside 
the  single  one  of  their  beneficial  or  injurious  conse- 
quences, or  the  system  of  sympathy  or  antipathy. 

He  does,  in  passing,  however,  point  out  what  may 
be  considered  a  fourth,  namely,  the  religious  system, 
which  places  the  rule  of  right  and  wrong  —  and, 
consequently,  of  the  proper  or  improper  —  in  the 
will  of  God.  But,  with  good  reason,  he  denies  that 
this  is  a  system  at  all,  because  we  have  still  to  deter- 
mine what  the  rule  is  which  the  will  of  God  pre- 
scribes ;  and,  as  the  rule  must  necessarily  be  either 
one  or  the  other  of  those  pointed  out  by  Bentham, 
the  system  must  merge  in  that. 

Such,  then,  are  the  systems  which  Bentham  con- 
siders as  opposed  to  his  own,  and  which  he  pronounces 
to  be  false.  Instead,  however,  of  attempting  to  estab- 
lish the  principle  of  utility,  he  directs  all  his  efforts 
to  refute  the  others;  and  it  is  in  this  attempt  that 
he  exposes  the  defects  of  his  own  metaphysical  science. 
It  is  here  that  we  must  look  for  the  philosophy  upon 
which  his  opinions  rest ;  and  to  this  point  I  shall 
direct  my  attacks,  when  I  attempt  the  refutation  of  his 
principles. 

Having  thus  described  the  principles  of  Bentham's 
system,  and  the  definitions  which  he  has  deduced 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM  19 

from  them,  1  will  now  explain  to  you  some  of  their 
practical  results.  Here  it  is,  as  I  have  said,  that 
our  jurist  displays  his  originality;  and  this  is  the 
part  of  his  system  which  is  truly  interesting,  and 
which  alone  I  care  to  exhibit;  for,  otherwise,  his 
system  would  be  identical  with  that  of  Hobbes,  which 
I  have  already  discussed.  The  views  which  I  am 
now  about  to  present  to  you  are  the  sources  of  the 
high  reputation  enjoyed  by  Bentham  among  students 
of  jurisprudence.  And  it  is  by  means  of  these  views 
that  he  has  exercised,  and  still  continues  to  exercise, 
so  beneficial  an  influence  upon  the  great  work  of 
reforming  and  improving  the  laws  of  all  Europe. 

You  will  readily  see  that,  in  order  to  apply  the 
principle  of  utility  practically,  it  is  not  enough  merely 
to  know  that  the  acts  are  good  which  produce  more 
pleasure  than  pain,  and  those  bad  which  produce 
more  pain  than  pleasure,  and  that  they  are  better 
or  worse  in  proportion  as  they  produce  more  or  less 
pleasure  or  pain.  Such  principles  would  remain 
barren  of  results,  unless  we  could  discover  some 
means  of  estimating  the  measure  of  good  or  evil 
resulting  from  any  act,  and  of  determining  the  rela- 
tions between  them.  For,  without  this,  any  conclu- 
sions at  which  we  might  arrive  would  be  useless  in 
conduct.  The  great  distinction  of  Bentham  is,  that 
he  has,  by  an  analysis  which,  though  imperfect,  is 
yet  remarkable  for  its  extent  and  depth,  attempted 
to  fix  this  standard  of  valuation  of  what  he  considers 
the  moral  good  and  evil  of  acts ;  that  is,  their 
property  of  producing  pleasure  or  pain. 

I  will   endeavor,  gentlemen,  rapidly  to  sketch  the 


20  JOUFFROY. 

elements  of  Bentham's  moral  arithmetic,  while,  at  the 
same  time,  I  advise  all  who  would  acquire  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  it  to  consult,  the  work  of  Dumont,  be- 
fore referred  to,  or  the  original  work  of  the  author 
himself. 

Bentham's  first  endeavor,  in  forming  his  method  of 
moral  calculation,  is  to  enumerate  and  classify  the  vari- 
ous kinds  of  pleasure  and  pain.  For,  as  it  is  the  accom- 
panying pleasure  or  pain  which  give  their  positive  or 
negative  value  to  actions  and  things,  it  is  evidently 
impossible  to  measure  their  value,  unless  we  previously 
are  acquainted  with  all  the  kinds  of  pleasure  and 
pain  which  they  are  fitted  to  produce,  and  which 
our  nature  is  capable  of  receiving.  It  would  carry 
us  too  far,  and  would  not  be  worth  our  while,  to  enter 
into  a  description  of  the  det.iils  of  these  classifications, 
arbitrary  as  ^11  which  have  thus  far  been  offered  are ', 
for  it  is  not  my  object  to  teach  Bentham's  system,  but 
simply  to  describe  it. 

This  first  element  of  the  various  kinds  of  pleasure 
and  pain  being  o^se  ascertained,  Bentham  next  at- 
tempts to  fix  upon  some  method  of  determining  their 
comparative  value.  And  here  I  must  enter  somewhat 
into  detail. 

If  two  kinds  of  pleasure,  the  result  of  two  different 
actions,  are  supposed,  we  must,  before  we  can  judge 
which  of  these  actions  is  most  useful,  determine 
which  kind  of  pleasure  is  highest  in  value.  We 
need,  therefore,  some  method  by  which  to  compare 
them.  Such  a  method  could  be  obtained,  if  we  were 
acquainted  with  all  the  elements  which  should  properly 
enter  into  our  estimate  of  a  pleasure.  It  is  to  the 


THE    SELFISH     SYSTEM.  BENTHAM.  21 

discovery  of  these  elements  that  Bentham  has  applied 
himself;  and  he  has  come  to  the  following  result  — 
that,  to  determine  the  real  value  of  any  pleasure, 
we  must  consider  it  under  these  six  principal  relations  : 
first,  its  intensity  —  for  some  pleasures  are  more  vivid 
than  others;  second,  its  duration  —  for  while  one 
pleasure  is  of  a  nature  to  be  prolonged,  another  is  tran- 
sient ;  third,  its  certainty  —  for  the  various  pleasures 
which  we  must  estimate  in  moral  calculation  are  all 
future  ones,  and  will  follow  as  consequences  the  acts 
we  purpose ;  the  degree  of  certainty,  therefore,  with 
which  they  will  accompany  our  act,  is  an  element  that 
must  be  taken  into  the  account ;  fourth,  its  nearness  — 
as  one  pleasure  may  ensue  at  the  distance  of  a  long 
interval  after  th^  performance  of  an  act,  while  another 
will  be  immediate ;  fifth,  its  power  of  multiplying 
pleasure  —  for  while  some  pleasures  bring  additional 
ones  in  their  train,  others  do  not;  sixth,  its  purity  — 
for  one  pleasure  may  be  followed  by  consequences 
more  or  less  painful,  from  which  another  is  wholly 
exempt. 

Such  are  the  aspects  under  which  pleasures  and 
pains  must  be  viewed,  before  we  can  determine 
their  value.  Only  after  having  tried  them  by  these 
tests,  can  we  determine,  with  confidence,  which  of 
two  actions  is  the  most  useful  or  injurious,  the  best 
or  the  worst,  and  judge  of  the  difference  existing 
between  them.  Thus  much  as  to  the  intrinsic  value 
of  pleasures  and  pains,  when  compared  together. 

But  another  element  must  also  enter  into  the  cal- 
culation. Pleasures  are  not  the  same  in  nature  to  all 
persons,  for  there  are  individual  differences  which 


JOUFFROYf. 

affect  their  value.  One  person  has  not  the  same  con- 
stitution, age,  character,  with  another.  There  are  dif- 
ferences of  sex,  of  education,  of  habits,  and  of  various 
other  kinds.  Now,  it  is  plain  that  these  differences  in 
individuals  will  variously  modify  the  sensations  they 
experience,  so  that  the  same  pleasure  will  not  produce 
identical  effects  in  all  persons.  Hence,  in  Berithflfri's 
moral  calculations,  there  is  a  second  element,  which 
he  has  endeavored  to  bring  as  fully  to  light  as  he  did 
the  first,  employing  an  exact  analysis,  for  the  purpose 
of  determining  all  such  circumstances  as  may  com- 
bine to  influence  the  sensibility  of  individuals,  and 
thus  alter  the  vividness  of  the  pleasures  and  pains 
of  which  they  are  susceptible. 

He  separates  these  circumstances  into  two  kinds  — 
primary  and  secondary.  Of  the  primary,  I  may  men- 
tion temperament,  the  degree  of  health,  strength  or 
weakness  of  body,  firmness  or  softness  of  disposition, 
habits,  propensities,  greater  or  less  development  of 
intellect;  all  of  which  circumstances  influence,  to  a 
considerable  degree,  not  only  the  intensity,  but  the  du- 
rability also,  of  pains  and  pleasures,  and  other  elements 
of  their  intrinsic  value.  Bentham  draws  up  an  exact 
catalogue  of  these  various  circumstances,  and  enters 
into  a  detailed  discussion  of  them  with  great  sagacity. 

But  further;  if,  before  we  can  form  our  moral  esti- 
mate of  the  value  of  pleasures  and  pains,  we  must, 
on  account  of  the  great  differences  between  individu- 
als, consider  each  individual  by  himself,  our  labor 
will  be  a  most  difficult  one  ;  for  individuals  themselves 
are  often  unaware  of  the  circumstances  which  pecu- 
liarly affect  them.  Are  there,  then,  no  general  cir 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  BENTHAM.  23 

cumstances,  including  these  various  other  circum- 
stances, which  may,  in  some  sort,  be  considered  their 
natural  signs,  and  serve  as  a  ground-work  for  the 
acts  of  the  legislator,  who,  though  he  cannot  be 
acquainted  with  the  character  of  each  individual,  may 
yet  know  the  world,  and  the  character  of  the  various 
classes  which  make  up  society  ?  Bentham  thinks 
that  there  are  such  general  circumstances ;  and  he 
calls  them  secondary  circumstances.  They  are  gen- 
eral, and  easily  recognized,  and  indicate,  with  con- 
siderable certainty,  wherever  found,  the  presence  of 
the  primary  circumstances.  Sex,  age,  education,  pro- 
fession, climate,  race,  forms  of  government,  religious 
opinions,  are  some  of  these  general  circumstances. 
If  we  had  the  time,  it  would  be  easy  to  show  that 
they  influence  the  sensibility  only  by  means  of  the 
primary  circumstances,  which  they  include.  Thus, 
for  example,  the  feminine  sex  possesses  a  delicacy 
of  organization  and  of  dispositions,  and  a  degree  of 
intelligence,  which  communicate  to  the  pleasures  or 
pains  experienced  by  them  an  intensity  and  dura- 
bility, or,  in  other  words,  a  value  which  makes  them 
different  from  those  experienced  by  man.  Now,  age, 
sex,  religious  opinions,  and  the  circumstances  of  the 
second  degree  in  general,  are,  unlike  those  of  the 
first  degree,  discernible  to  a  legislator ;  he  can  appre- 
ciate them,  and,  therefore,  give  them  due  weight  in 
his  calculations.  For  instance,  he  will  not  inflict 
punishments  of  equal  severity  upon  women  and  men ; 
because,  in  so  doing,  the  pain  produced  would  be 
unequal.  I  need  only  thus  point  out  to  you  Bentham's 


24  JOUFFROY. 

method  of  forming  an  estimate  of  pleasures  and  paina 
You  will  comprehend  it  at  once. 

We  have  now  considered  three  modes  of  calculating 
the  value  of  pleasures  and  pains.  But  there  are 
other  modes.  Thus  far  we  have  considered  the  pains 
and  pleasures  of  individuals  only ;  but  there  are  pains 
and  pleasures  which  extend  to  multitudes.  Here, 
therefore,  is  a  new  element  of  moral  calculation,  and 
Bentham  has  carefully  analyzed  it.  And  it  is  in  this 
analysis  that  we  find,  perhaps,  his  most  original  and 
important  suggestions.  He  gives  an  exact  and  curious 
account  of  the  manner  in  which  the  beneficial  or 
injurious  results  of  acts  extend  beyond  the  agent 
and  the  person  whom  they  first  affect,  through  wider 
and  wider  circles,  till  they  reach  the  extreme  limits 
of  society.  This  very  ingenious  analysis  gives  us  a 
calculation  of  all  the  good  and  evil  which  an  act 
produces  upon  the  individual  directly  subject  to  its 
influence,  and  a  description  of  the  laws  by  which 
these  effects  are  propagated  and  transmitted.  Ben- 
tham's  passion  for  classification,  which  often  is  an 
inconvenience  of  his  method,  by  obscuring  instead 
of  giving  light,  is  here  of  great  service ;  for  his  clas- 
sification is  just  and  true.  Although  the  results  to 
which  he  comes,  would  apply  equally  to  good  or  evil 
influences,  yet  it  is  to  the  evil  exclusively  that  he 
applies  them,  because  it  is  chiefly  to  the  prevention 
of  these  that  legislators  direct  their  efforts.  They 
have  but  little  power  of  multiplying  good  influences 
by  their  encouragements. 

An  evil  act  being  supposed,  — that  is  to  say,  an  act 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  BENTHAM.  25 

whose  consequences  are  more- injurious  than  beneficial, 
—  Bentham,  beo-irmin<r  with  the  evil  which  the  a^ent 

'         o  o  ~ 

inflicts  on  himself,  proceeds  to  analyze  those  which 
ensue  to  society,  and  distinguishes  them  into  evils 
of  the  first,  second,  and  third  classes.  The  first  con- 
sists of  such  as  affect  certain  individuals,  who  can 
be  known  and  named.  For  instance,  the  evil  caused 
by  a  robbery  extends  beyond  the  person  robbed  to 
his  wife,  children,  and  family.  Independent  of  the 
first  evil  inflicted,  there  is,  in  such  cases,  an  added 
and  incidental  evil,  affecting  certain  individuals 
whom  the  lawgiver  can  have  cognizance  of,  before- 
hand. Bentham  denominates  this  an  evil  of  the  first 
class. 

But  the  evils  of  a  robbery  extend  beyond  the  family 
of  the  person  robbed,  to  an  indefinite  number  of  indi- 
viduals unknown.  When  a  man  is  robbed,  for  in- 
stance, a  greater  or  smaller  portion  of  society  hear 
of  it,  and  are  alarmed ;  this  alarm  is  an  evil,  and 
every  one  may  suffer  from  it.  But  this  is  not  all. 
Independent  of  the  alarm,  the  robbery  does  society 
an  actual  injury;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  men,  who 
have  never  thought  of  such  a  mode  of  obtaining  a 
subsistence,  learn  that  it  is  practicable;  and,  on  the 
other,  the  news  of  such  success  stimulates  all  rogues 
to  redoubled  boldness  and  activity.  Here,  then,  are 
evils  incidental  to  the  first  evil,  but  which  affect  per- 
sons unknown  to  the  legislator.  They  form  the  evils 
of  the  second  class. 

There  is  a  third  class  of  evils,  not,  indeed,  always 
produced  by  a  bad   action,  but  which  it  still  naturally 
tends  to  produce.     For  example,   when,  in   any  com- 
VOL.  n.  c 


26  JOUFFROY. 

munity,  robbery  becomes  so  common  as  to  create  a 
universal  alarm,  and  the  danger  becomes  so  great 
that  the  law  is  powerless  to  repress  it ;  when  such 
a  state  of  things  exists,  as  was  prevalent  through- 
out Europe  in  the  middle  ages,  where  brigands, 
too  strong  to  be  resisted,  filled  the  land,  —  what  is 
the  consequence?  All  travelling  ceases,  and  every 
citizen,  giving  himself  up  to  discouragement,  retires 
from  occupations  whose  gains  are  insecure ;  general 
idleness  ensues,  productive  of  every  vice ;  and  the 
end  of  all  is  a  complete  disorganization  of  society. 
From  this  example  we  may  see  how  bad  actions, 
—  besides  the  evils  inflicted  on  the  individual  who 
immediately  suffers,  and  on  a  certain  number  of  his 
near  connections,  —  besides  those,  too,  produced  by 
awakening  an  alarm,  and  by  multiplying  the  sources 
of  social  wrongs,  —  have  also  a  tendency  to  bring  on 
that  state  of  anarchy,  which  is  the  utter  ruin  of 
society.  This  tendency,  the  last  and  final  result  of 
bad  deeds,  Bentham  calls  an  evil  of  the  third  class. 
Such  is  a  brief  and  rapid  sketch  of  this  interesting 
portion  of  his  system. 

And  now,  gentlemen,  you  are  possessed  of  all  the 
elements  of  moral  arithmetic,  or,  in  other  words,  of 
the  mode  of  estimating  the  usefulness  or  injurious- 
ness  of  actions.  These  elements,  you  will  observe, 
are  four  in  number.  They  are  —  first,  all  the  pleas- 
ures and  pains  of  which  human  nature  is  susceptible : 
second,  all  the  intrinsic  circumstances  which  may 
tend  to  augment  or  impair  the  value  of  these  pleasures 
and  pains ;  third,  the  various  circumstances  which 
may  produce  different  degrees  of  sensibility,  and  thus 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  27 

indirectly  modify  the  value  of  the  pleasures  and  paina 
experienced  by  individuals;  and,  fourth  and  last,  the 
multiplied  consequences,  which  follow  a  beneficial  or 
injurious  action,  and  which,  beginning  from  the  im- 
mediate subject  of  these  actions,  extend  to  all  who 
are  connected  with  him,  and,  thus  influencing  wider 
and  wider  circles,  end  finally  by  affecting  society  at 
large. 

Having  thus  described  these  various  elements,  it 
remains  to  be  seen  how  Bentham  employs  them  in 
forming  his  moral  estimates. 

The  first  question  to  be  asked,  of  course,  when 
any  action  is  to  be  judged  of,  is  this :  "  Is  it  a  good 
or  a  bad  action  ?"  If  it  is  useful,  it  is  good;  if  it  is 
injurious,  it  is  bad ;  and  it  is  useful  or  injurious  ac- 
cording as  its  tendency  is  to  produce  more  pleasure 
than  pain,  or  more  pain  than  pleasure.  To  answer 
the  question,  we  must  calculate  all  its  possible  effects, — 
its  useful  effects  on  the  one  side,  and  its  injurious 
effects  on  the  other,  —  and  then  weigh  them  together  ; 
if  the  scale  inclines  to  the  side  of  the  useful,  it  is 
a  good  action ;  if  to  the  side  of  the  injurious,  it  is 
a  bad  one.  The  second  question  to  be  asked  is  this : 
"Of  two  actions,  which  are  both  either  useful  or 
injurious,  which  is  the  most  so?"  To  answer  this, 
we  have  but  to  follow  an  equally  simple  rule;  we 
have  only  to  balance  the  results  of  each,  and  at  once 
it  will  be  determined,  by  the  preponderance  of  its 
effects,  which  of  the  two  is  the  worse  or  better.  And, 
finally,  the  third  problem  to  be  solved,  in  relation 
to  actions,  is  this :  "  How  shall  we  determine,  among 
a  given  number  of  useful  or  injurious  actions,  the 


28  JOUFFROY. 

relative  goodness  or  badness  of  each  ? "  You  see  at 
once  that  we  must  follow  again  the  same  method 
of  comparison.  Thus,  gentlemen,  it  appears  that, 
by  means  of  his  moral  arithmetic,  Bentham  is  enabled 
to  solve  all  moral  problems,  and  fix  the  moral  value 
of  every  possible  act. 

This  brings  us  to  the  application  of  the  whole  of 
this  method,  which  no  one  would  have  thought  of 
inventing,  except  for  the  purpose  of  exhibiting  the 
value  of  the  principle  of  utility.  The  question  which 
a  Benthamite  proposes  —  and  it  is  a  fundamental 
question  in  legislation  —  is  this:  "Have  we  the  right 
to  consider  certain  actions  as  crimes,  and  to  inflict 
penalties  upon  their  agents?"  This,  with  Bentham, 
is  identical  with  asking  —  "  Will  such  a  measure  be 
useful  to  society?"  If  it  will  not  be  useful,  then 
we  have  no  right  to  make  laws,  and  there  is  no  work 
for  the  legislator  whatever.  For  what  is  a  law?  It 
is  a  prohibition  of  certain  acts.  And  how  can  they 
be  prohibited  without  some  penalty?  Laws  cannot 
exist  without  a  sanction. 

To  answer  this  fundamental  question,  as  to  the 
propriety  of  making  laws  and  inflicting  penalties, 
Bentham  reasons  as  follows :  —  What  is  a  crime  ? 
It  is  an  act  whose  consequences  are  evil.  We  cannot 
designate  as  a  crime  that  which  produces  good,  or 
even  indifferent,  effects.  Wherever  this  has  been 
done,  it  was  owing  to  ignorance.  On  the  other 
hand,  what  is  a  penalty?  It  is  an  evil.  Now,  what 
is  the  end  for  which  society  is  constituted?  The 
attainment  of  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  good. 
And  what,  then,  is  the  duty  of  the  legislator  ?  It  is 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  29 

to  adopt  such  measures  as  may  be  productive  of  this 
good.  The  question,  therefore,  proposed,  as  funda- 
mental to  all  legislation,  whether  certain  acts  should 
be  treated  as  crimes,  and  penalties  inflicted  upon  the 
agent,  reduces  itself  to  a  balancing  of  two  evils.  The 
act  produces  an  evil,  and  the  pain  of  the  penalty  is 
an  evil.  We  have  to  inquire,  therefore,  in  the  first 
place,  whether  the  penalty  will  tend  to  prevent  the 
evil  act  —  altogether  or  frequently;  and,  if  so,  whether, 
in  the  second  place,  the  evil  of  the  penalty  is  less 
than  the  evil  consequent  on  the  act.  If  it  is  less, 
then  its  effects  are  beneficial,  and  we  have  the  right 
to  condemn  and  punish  the  act.  Such  is  Bentham's 
mode  of  solving  the  problem ;  and,  in  his  view,  it  is 
the  only  possible  solution.  This  principle  being 
adopted,  it  becomes  easy  to  prove  that  penalties  may 
be  effectual  to  prevent  acts  which  are  injurious  to 
society,  or,  at  least,  to  make  them  rare  in  occurrence. 
And  equally  easy  is  it  to  prove,  that,  in  many  instances, 
the  evil  of  the  penalty  is  infinitely  small  for  society, 
in  comparison  with  that  which  it  suffers  from  the 
bad  act.  Hence  it  is  just  and  proper  to  condemn 
and  punish  certain  actions. 

Having  laid  down  this  theory,  Bentham  next  pro- 
ceeds to  seek  the  means  by  which  a  legislator  may 
so  influence  society  as  to  multiply  beneficial  actions, 
and  lessen  the  number  of  injurious  ones.  And  this 
leads  him  to  a  branch  of  ethical  science  called  by 
M.  Dumont  "  moral  dynamics,"  whose  object  it  is  to 
determine  the  motives  which  may  operate  on  the  will, 
and  of  which  the  legislator  may  avail  himself  in  shap- 


30  JOUFFROY. 

ing  men  to  his  purposes.     I  will  finish  this  lecture  by 
a  rapid  sketch  of  Bentham's  ideas  on  this  subject. 

A  motive  to  action,  according  to  Beritham,  must  be 
some  pleasure  or  some  pain  ;  for  it  is  his  principle, 
that  only  these  can  influence  our  volitions.  Pleasure 
and  pain,  therefore,  are  the  only  instruments  which  a 
legislator  can  employ ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  only  sanc- 
tions by  which  he  can  enforce  his  laws.  In  order  to 
the  full  and  distinct  comprehension  of  this  only  means 
of  legislative  influence,  Bentham  has  carefully  exam- 
ined pleasures  and  pains  under  this  new  aspect ;  that 
is  to  say,  in  view  of  their  fitness  to  be  used  as 
sanctions  of  law,  and  motives  in  the  hands  of  the 
legislator.  He  is  led,  by  this  mode  of  observation, 
to  distinguish  four  classes  of  pains  and  pleasures, 
suitable  to  be  employed  as  sanctions.  The  first  con- 
sists of  such  as  are  the  natural  consequences  of 
actions.  Every  act  brings  with  it  a  train  of  agreeable 
or  disagreeable  consequences  which  may  be  foreseen, 
and  thus  become  a  motive  to  the  will.  To  this  class 
of  pains  and  pleasures,  Bentham  gives  the  name  of 
natural  or  physical.  Independent  of  these  direct  con- 
sequences, there  are  others,  which  arise  from  our  rela- 
tions to  our  fellow-men.  Thus,  for  instance,  our  bad 
acts  bring  upon  us  contempt  and  enmity.  Besides 
the  unpleasantness  of  this  treatment  to  ourselves,  there 
is  additional  suffering  in  the  fact,  that  men  are  less 
disposed  to  oblige  us,  and  to  render  to  us  "  gratuitous 
services,"  to  use  Bentham's  expression ;  and,  accord- 
ing to  him,  the  reason  why  we  prize  the  benevolence 
of  those  around  us,  is,  that  this  benevolence  renders 


THE    SELFISH     SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  31 

them  willing  to  aid  us  without  recompense.  This 
second  class  of  pleasures  and  pains  Bentharn  calls  the 
moral  sanction,  or  the  sanction  of  honor  and  opinion. 
In  the  third  place,  our  acts  bring  upon  us  pains 
and  pleasures  which  are  adjudged  as  penalties  and  re- 
wards by  the  law ;  and  these  Bentham  names  the  legal 
sanction.  Finally,  if  we  have  a  religious  faith  which 
teaches  us  to  hope  or  fear  that  acts  committed  here, 
will  be  rewarded  or  punished  hereafter,  there  arise 
pleasures  and  pains  of  a  fourth  class,  which,  although 
they  belong  to  the  future,  are  yet  motives  to  present 
choice,  and  form  a  fourth  kind  of  sanction,  called 
by  Bentham  the  religious  sanction.  Thus  the  nat- 
ural, the  moral,  the  legal,  and  the  religious  sanc- 
tions are  the  motives  by  which  the  human  will  can 
be  directed,  and  which  the  legislator  must  employ 
as  his  instruments.  There  are  no  others  to  be 
found. 

But  can  the  legislator  use  all  of  these  sanctions  ? 
Ought  he  to  use  them  ?  Bentham  distinguishes  the 
line  of  demarkation  between  legislation  and  ethics. 
He  shows,  by  admirable  reasoning,  what  has,  indeed, 
been  often  demonstrated,  but  never,  perhaps,  with 
equal  clearness,  that  there  are  limits  to  legislation 
beyond  which  it  should  never  go.  The  legislator 
has  always  at  his  command  the  legal  sanction ;  he 
can  connect  penalties  and  rewards  with  acts;  but 
the  three  other  kinds  of  sanctions  are  not  subject  to 
tiis  power.  It  is  not  the  legislator,  but  the  established 
nature. of  things,  which  connects  with  conduct  the 
natural  sanction  ;  and  it  is  opinion  and  faith  which 
connect  with  it  the  moral  and  religious  sanctions. 


32  JOUFFROY. 

And,  having  no  power  to  create  these  sanctions, 
neither  can  he  control  nor  direct  them.  His  true 
instrument  of  influence  is  the  legal  sanction ;  with 
this  he  can  act,  because  he  can  employ  it  at  his 
pleasure.  But  it  does  not,  therefore,  follow,  that  he 
is  wholly  to  slight  the  others.  By  doing  so,  he 
incurs  the  risk,  not  only  of  losing  the  aid  which 
they  might  give,  but  of  weakening  the  influence 
of  the  legal  sanction  itself.  These  forces,  which 
act  independently  of,  and  prior  to  his  volition, 
may  oppose,  if  he  offends  them,  —  may  assist,  if 
he  conciliates  them.  The  first  care  of  the  legisla- 
tor, then,  should  be,  not  to  array  them  in  hostil- 
ity against  him;  his  second,  to  make  them  his  aux- 
iliaries. 

Suppose,  for  example,  that  some  religious  opinion 
prevails  in  a  country  ;  what  would  be  the  consequence 
if  the  legislator  should  encourage,  by  legal  sanction, 
such  acts  as  this  religion  condemns,  or  forbid  such  as 
it  commands.  The  religious  sanction,  placed  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  legal  sanction,  would  impair  its  influence, 
arid  weaken  the  restraints  of  law.  This  the  legislator 
should  carefully  avoid,  even  when  he  considers  the 
rites  prescribed  by  religion  injurious  in  their  tendency, 
and  the  acts  which  it  condemns  beneficial.  And  why  ? 
Because  the  course  he  would  recommend  cannot,  al- 
though a  preferable  one,  be,  under  such  circumstances, 
adopted ;  and  because  it  is  evident  that  the  greatest 
good  of  society  will  be  best  secured  by  gaining  the  aid 
of  the  religious  sanction,  which,  if  unopposed  now,  may 
come  to  his  assistance  in  other  cases,  where  it  will  not 
only  strengthen  the  legal  sanction,  b*it  govern  those  over 


THE    SELFISH     SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  33 

whom  the  legal  sanction  exerts  no  control.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  the  habits  and  customs  every  where 
prevalent.  The  legislator,  in  disregarding  them,  arrays 
the  moral  against  the  legal  sanction,  and  his  laws  be- 
come odious  as  well  as  powerless.  On  the  other  hand, 
by  making  sacrifices  to  this  mighty  power  of  opinion, 
he  will  be  amply  remunerated  by  securing  for  his  enact- 
ments the  support  of  public  feeling  and  national  senti- 
ment. These  examples  will  suffice  to  illustrate  Ben- 
tham's  idea,  and  to  show  how  rich  and  varied  are  his 
developments  of  it.  Bentham  studied  legislation  with 
profound  attention,  and  consecrated  his  long  life  to  the 
observation  of  society  ;  and  his  works  abound,  there- 
fore, with  views  of  the  greatest  practical  utility. 
Led,  as  I  have  been,  into  various  criticisms,  and 
compelled,  as  I  have  felt,  to  bring  various  objections 
against  the  fundamental  principles  of  his  system,  I 
am  happy  to  have  the  opportunity  of  thus  testifying 
my  respect. 

Having  thus  established  the  limits  between  ethics 
and  legislation,  Bentham  proceeds  to  the  consideration 
of  legislation  in  itself,  and  lays  down  the  foundations 
for  a  penal  and  a  civil  code.  We  will  follow  him 
into  these  practical  discussions,  when  we  come  to 
these  subjects  in  the  order  of  our  studies.  But  at 
present  we  must  omit  the  consideration  of  them.  I 
have  now  given  you  a  summary  of  Bentham's  the- 
oretical opinions;  I  have  pointed  out  his  funda- 
mental principle,  the  end  at  which  he  aims,  and  the 
method  he  pursues.  In  my  next  lecture,  I  propose 
to  test  rigor?usly,  the  validity  of  the  whole  system ; 


34 


JOUFFROY. 


for  the  objections  which  I  have  made  to  Hobbes, 
may,  with  equal  force,  be  brought  against  Beitthim, 
since  the  great  principles  of  these  two  philosophers 
are  identical. 


THE    SELFISH     SYSTEM. 11ENTHAM. 


35 


LECTURE    XIV. 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  my  last  lecture,  I  endeavored  to  give 
you  a  true,  although  a  very  general  idea  of  the  sys- 
tem of  Bentham.  If  this  writer  had  attempted  to 
prove  the  truth  of  his  principles,  by  reasoning,  I 
should  have  felt  it  my  duty  to  refute  his  arguments ; 
but,  as  he  asserts  that  the  principle  of  utility  needs 
no  proof,  and  is  self-evident,  what  I  have  already  said 
in  reference  to  Hobbes  will  apply  equally  here. 

But  Bentham,  although  he  offers  no  proofs  of  the 
truth  of  his  own  doctrines,  does  attack  those  which 
differ  from  them.  Confident  of  his  own  principle, 
he  is  entirely  occupied  with  the  prejudicial  influence 
exerted  by  opposite  principles,  and  devotes  all  his 
energies  to  the  exhibition  of  their  erroneous  nature. 
And  short  as  this  polemical  portion  of  his  work  is,  yet 
it  is  here  that  we  must  look  for  the  only  traces  of 
philosophy  to  be  found  in  his  writings.  In  the  present 
lecture,  then,  I  will  set  before  you  the  principal  argu- 
ments which  he  uses,  and  will  endeavor  to  reply  to 
them ;  because,  if  any  thing  could  have  the  effect  of 
making  those  converts  to  Bentham's  system,  who  are 


00  JOUFFROY. 

doubtful  about  his  main  principle,  it  is,  undoubtedly, 
his  objections  to  all  other  systems. 

I  have  already  explained  some  of  the  causes  which 
have  given  Bentham  authority,  and  have  procured  him 
zealous  disciples.  And  now,  I  would  say,  that  we 
might,  with  reason,  consider,  as  one  among  these 
causes,  the  fact,  that  he  offers  no  proof  in  favor  of 
his  system.  When  a  philosopher  lays  down  a  prin- 
ciple, and  offers  his  arguments  to  support  it,  his  adhe- 
rents know  the  ground  upon  which  they  admit  it ; 
and,  however  complete  may  be  their  conviction,  it  is 
still  a  reasonable  one,  and  can  never  become  impas- 
sioned or  fanatical.  But  when,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  philosopher  lays  down  his  principle,  and  asserts  that 
it  would  be  absurd  to  attempt  to  prove  it,  then  those 
who  receive  it  adopt  it  upon  his  authority,  and  because 
the  master  says  it,  and  room  is  given  for  fanaticism. 
This  is  what  Bentham  did ;  and  his  feeling,  that  all 

'  O ' 

proof  of  his  doctrine  was  unnecessary,  reappears  in 
his  mode  of  attacking  other  systems ;  for,  instead  of 
entering  into  a  serious  and  full  discussion  of  them, 
he  merely  points  out  the  way  which  one  should  take, 
who  wished  to  refute  them ;  so  that  what  he  says  is 
rather  ridicule  than  criticism.  I  repeat,  therefore, 
Bentham's  astonishing  confidence  in  his  own  opinions 
inspired  a  like  faith  in  his  disciples ;  and  here  we  see 
the  explanation  of  their  unquestioning  assent  to  what- 
ever he  either  said  or  wrote,  and  the  blind  zeal  with 
vvhich  they  defend  him. 

But  a  cause,  yet  more  direct  and  powerful,  of  the 
success  of  Bentham's  system,  is  the  fact,  that  it  is 
of  a  kind  that  recommends  itself  to  a  class  of  men 


THE     SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  37 

who  are  proud  of  their  own  opinions,  and  who  com- 
placently call  themselves  practical  men  —  a  class 
worthy  of  much  esteem,  and  eminently  serviceable  to 
society,  but  yet  least  calculated  of  any  to  distinguish 
truth  from  error,  in  matters  of  science.  Understand 
rny  exact  meaning,  gentlemen  ;  again  I  say,  I  honor 
the  men  who  are  called  practical,  and  am  perfectly 
aware  of  their  merits ;  in  all  respects,  I  am  most 
ready  to  acknowledge  their  claims,  but  I  deny  that 
the  character  and  habits  of  their  minds  are  such 
as  fit  them  for  the  discovery  of  truth,  or  such  as 
entitle  them  to  speak  with  authority  upon  scientific 
questions. 

The  peculiar  characteristic  of  the  practical  man, 
is,  that  he  sees  and  comprehends  nothing  which  all 
the  world  does  not  see  and  clearly  comprehend,  and 
that  he  regards  and  acknowledges  nothing  as  true 
beyond  this ;  the  limit  of  the  most  ordinary  intelli- 
gence, is  the  limit,  he  thinks,  of  certainty  ;  and  thus 
he  imposes  upon  science  the  narrow  range  of  the 
most  common  mind. 

Setting  out  from  this  principle,  the  practical  man 
divides  all  that  has  been,  or  can  be  a  subject  of 
thought,  into  the  two  divisions  of  speculation  and  of 
fact ;  and  rejecting,  without  exception,  all  that  is  com- 
prehended within  the  former,  he  adopts  every  thing 
included  by  the  latter.  He  does  not  employ  these 
two  words,  speculation  and  fact,  in  their  general 
acceptation,  however,  because  he  designates  by  the 
former  name  whatever  he  cannot  comprehend. 

And,  first,  the  practical  man  calls  every  thing 
speculation,  that  has  not  a  direct  and  close  connec- 

VOL.    II.  D 


38 


JOUFFllOY. 


tion  with  facts,  rejecting,  as  speculative,  all  lengthened 
inductions  which  it  demands  some  little  effort  to 
follow.  And  thus  it  often  happens  that  the  very 
strictest  reasoning  is,  in  his  judgment,  mere  specu- 
lation. 

Again,  practical  men  will  not  admit  all  kinds  of 
facts  even ;  there  is  a  large  class  which  they  reject ; 
I  mean  facts  which  are  not  sensible  —  that  is  to  say, 
which  do  not  fall  under  the  observation  of  either 
of  our  five  natural  senses ;  so  that  moral  and  intel- 
lectual, and  in  a  word,  all  facts,  communicated  by 
consciousness,  are  to  them  chimerical  ;  and  yet  this 
class  comprehends  at  least  one  half  of  the  phenom- 
ena presented  to  the  consideration  of  the  human 
mind. 

Once  more ;  in  denying  this  large  division  of  the 
facts  which  fall  under  our  observation,  practical  men 
of  course  deny  and  cast  aside  all  truths  discovered 
from  reasoning  by  induction  or  deduction ;  and,  con- 
sequently, they  reject  all  sciences  based  upon  these 
truths;  to  their  apprehension,  such  considerations  are 
speculative  and  worthless. 

The  strictly  practical  mind  goes  yet  further ;  it 
will  not  admit  all  sensible  facts  even ;  whatever  is 
distant  and  far  removed  in  space  or  time,  becomes 
doubtful  and  unworthy  of  regard.  An  event  that 
occurred  in  Rome  two  thousand  years  ago,  or  which 
is  taking  place  in  China  now,  or  a  phenomenon  in 
the  heavens,  noticed  by  the  astronomer  through  his 
glass,  is,  from  being  so  remote,  a  thing  of  specu- 
lation. 

And  not  only  must  a  fact  be  sensible  and  near,  to 


THE    SELFISH     SYSTEM.  BENTHAM.  39 

satisfy  the  practical  man,  but  it  must  also  be  well 
known  by  all  the  world,  and  it  must  have  been 
observed  a  thousand  times :  a  fact  that  is  novel  and 
unwonted  is  a  speculative  thing. 

Finally,  among  facts  well  known  and  often  observed, 
only  the  larger  and  more  important  ones  seem,  to  the 
practical  man,  worthy  of  account:  the  lesser  ones  he 
wholly  overlooks;  in  the  tree,  he  sees  only  the  trunk 
and  the  main  branches;  the  leaves  are  too  much 
matters  of  speculation  to  be  regarded. 

Such  is  the  logic  of  the  practical  mind ;  and  its 
psychology  is  a  direct  and  natural  result. 

Practical  men  admit  only  those  faculties  in  a  man 
whose  effects  they  can  appreciate.  They  make  much 
of  a  good  stomach,  of  strong  limbs,  of  the  five  natural 
senses,  and  of  that  common  sort  of  understanding, 
which,  when  it  is  cold  on  a  December  evening,  con- 
jectures that  it  will  freeze  during  the  night.  But  as 
to  faculties  more  refined  and  elevated  in  nature,  they 
either  despise  them,  or  deny  their  existence ;  they 
have  no  use  for  them  whatever,  and  very  possibly  do 
not  possess  them  at  all. 

They  consider  as  foolish,  the  men  in  whom  such 
faculties  are  strongly  developed  and  active.  A  poet, 
a  painter,  a  religious  man,  a  metaphysician,  an 
algebraist,  a  literary  man,  are,  to  them,  strange 
monsters. 

They  consider  as  idle  stories  all  the  products  of 
these  faculties.  A  volume  of  Lamartine,  a  dialogue 
of  Plato,  an  academic  memoir  on  inscriptions,  a 
formula  of  Laplace,  a  landscape  of  Poussin,  a  beauti- 
ful passage  of  historical  writing,  are  to  them  mere 


40  JOCFFROY. 

trifles,  which  may  amuse,  perhaps,  the  eccentric,  hat 
are  quite  unworthy,  because  offering  nothing  solid, 
to  attract  the  attention  of  a  practical  mind.  Canals, 
railroads,  steamboats,  prices,  labor,  agriculture,  com- 
merce, whatever  has  value  and  is  salable,  these,  a*<3 
these  alone,  have  real  worth  and  importance. 

Apply,  now,  these  principles  to  morals,  gentlemen, 
and  you  at  once  have  the  system  of  Bentham. 

The  elevated  and  impulsive  emotions,  which  act 
upon  our  nature,  and  influence,  in  so  great  a  degree, 
our  conduct,  have  no  real  existence  for  the  practical 
man;  he  sees  them  not,  or  despises  them,  and  leaves 
them  to  women  and  children. 

He  admits  and  recognizes  only  the  motive  of  in- 
terest, or,  in  other  words,  happiness;  but  he  excludes 
from  his  idea  of  interest  the  delicate  pleasures  derived 
from  the  exercise  of  our  highest  and  noblest  powers. 
The  only  interests  which  he  can  appreciate,  are  such 
as  are  palpable,  and  can  be  touched,  measured, 
weighed.  He  could  not  comprehend  Epicurus,  even 
if  he  should  read  him;  but  he  does  not  read  him, — 
for  he  was  a  philosopher  and  an  ancient;  he  doubts 
even  whether  such  a  man  ever  existed,  —  for  who  can 
tell  what  happened  two  thousand  years  ago? 

Morality  is  for  him  a  matter  of  calculation ;  and 
it  is  by  sums  of  addition  and  subtraction  that  he 
judges,  in  each  case,  of  the  propriety  of  a  course 
of  conduct.  As  a  practical  man  is  his  standard  of 
comparison,  it  seems  to  him  as  if  all  the  world  were 
governed  by  the  spirit  of  calculation.  He  neither 
believes  in  nor  doubts  of  a  Deity ;  he  does  not  think 
about  the  subject  at  all  ;  it  is  too  refined  and  abstract 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  41 

for  him.  And,  confined  in  his  own  narrow  round 
of  ideas,  he  is  positive,  confident,  unhesitating,  and 
content. 

Practical  men  are  entirely  persuaded  that  they 
govern  the  world,  because  they  every  where  float  on 
the  surface  ;  they  make  the  laws  and  administer  them ; 
they  manufacture,  and  buy,  and  sell ;  they  are  the 
consumers ;  —  but  they  never  seem  to  be  aware  that 
this  world,  which  they  suppose  is  under  their  direction, 
is  a  mighty  force,  that,  in  its  movement,  is  sweeping 
them  onward. 

The  outward  and  apparent  revolutions  in  society, 
which  are  the  only  ones  apparent  to  them,  conform 
to  their  ideas,  while  the  movers  of  them  are  hidden 
from  their  view;  and  thus  they  take  the  mill-wheel 
for  the  water  that  forces  it  to  turn. 

Bentham,  gentlemen,  belonged  to  this  class  that 
I  have  now  described ;  and  he  had  all  the  energy 
and  enterprise,  all  the  sagacity  and  confidence,  which 
characterize  practical  men.  He  could  not  but  adopt, 
then,  such  a  system  as  his  own;  and,  encountering 
a  host  of  other  men,  similarly  constituted  and  dis- 
posed, he  naturally  delighted  them,  and  rallied  them 
around  him.  Practical  men,  the  world  over,  pledged 
each  other  to  support  his  doctrine ;  and  here  we  see 
the  grand  and  true  cause  of  his  success. 

And  now  let  us  look  at  these  mighty  objections, 
brought  in  array  by  Bentham,  against  all  systems  which 
do  not  concentrate  in  interest  the  various  motives 
of  human  volition.  It  is  in  the  first  chapter  of  his 
"  Introduction  to  the  Principles  of  Ethics  and  Poli- 


42  JOUFFROY. 

tics"  that  the  most  important  part  of  his  controversial 
writings  may  be  found.  He  there,  in  the  first  place, 
declares  that  interest  is  the  sole  motive  of  volition, 
and  maintains  that  the  assertion  needs  no  proof;  and 
then  passes  on,  not  to  a  refutation  of  the  philosophers 
who  have  based  their  systems  of  ethics  and  politics 
on  a  different  foundation,  but  to  an  indication  of  the 
mode  of  reasoning  by  which  an  advocate  of  the 
principle  of  utility  may  convince  them  of  their  error, 
or,  at  Jeast,  reduce  them  to  silence.  And  the  mode 
in  which,  according  to  Bentham,  a  utilitarian  should 
proceed  to  argue  with  an  opponent  of  the  principle, 
is  as  follows  :  — 

In  the  first  place,  says  Bentham,  every  body  admits 
that  interest,  or  the  pursuit  of  well-being,  is  one 
motive  of  human  volition.  So  manifest  is  this,  that 
even  the  most  extravagant  defenders  of  opposite  sys- 
tems do  not  pretend  to  deny  it.  Whoever,  then,  may 
be  the  person  with  whom  you  are  arguing,  he  will 
admit  the  principle  of  utility  to  be  one  among  the 
moving  springs  of  human  action ;  only,  in  addition 
to  this,  he  asserts  that  some  other  principle  is  also 
active  —  in  this  alone  does  he  differ  from  you.  Well ; 
ask  him  now  to  analyze  this  other  principle,  and  to 
examine  whether  it  is  really  a  distinct  one,  or  whether 
it  is  not  interest  under  a  new  and  different  form. 
This  seldom  fails  to  produce  conviction  ;  for  there 
are  few  men,  who,  when  they  ask  themselves  what 
they  mean  by  the  words  good  and  evil,  virtue  and 
vice,  honor  and  meanness,  will  not  admit  that  they 
use  them  in  the  sense  in  which  they  are  employed 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  43 

in  the  system  of  utility ;  and  thus  you  may  make 
converts,  says  Bentham,  of  the  unreflecting  opponents 
of  your  principle. 

But  suppose  that,  according  to  his  sincere  con- 
viction, your  antagonist  does  admit,  in  addition  to 
the  principle  of  utility,  some  other  principle,  truly 
distinct  from  it ;  in  this  case,  it  must  be  the  principle 
of  sympathy  or  antipathy.  It  is  the  peculiar  charac 
teristic  of  the  principle  of  utility,  that  it  determines 
the  quality  of  actions,  and  judges  of  their  title  to 
approbation  or  disapprobation,  by  a  view  of  their 
consequences.  We  can  conceive  of  but  one  different 
principle  from  this ;  for,  if  we  do  not  judge  of  acts 
by  their  consequences,  we  must  judge  of  them  by 
some  consideration,  independent  of  these  conse- 
quences; or,  in  other  words,  we  must  associate 
naturally  with  acts  a  sentiment  of  approval  or  dis- 
approval anterior  to,  and  quite  independent  of,  the 
perception  of  the  effects  of  the  action  ;  and,  under 
whatever  form  of  expression  you  may  conceal  it,  the 
fact  remains  unchanged,  and  constitutes  what  I  call, 
says  Bentharn,  the  principle  of  sympathy  or  antipathy. 
But,  if  every  man  does  thus  attach  an  d  priori  idea 
of  good  or  evil  to  actions,  one  of  two  things  must 
happen  ;  either  that  a  single  individual  will  consider 
himself  as  having  the  right  of  imposing  his  peculiar 
moral  judgments  upon  all  men,  or  else  that  each  one 
will  have  his  own  views  of  right,  and  will  follow  them 
in  conduct.  According  to  the  first  hypothesis,  you 
may  say  to  the  opponent  of  utility,  Your  principle 
is  tyrannical ;  for  the  mere  fact,  that  you  judge  in 
a  particular  way  of  actions,  and  that  your  reason  or 


44  JOUFFROY. 

instinct  determines  one  to  be  good  and  another  bad, 
gives  you  no  right  to  impose  your  private  sentiment 
upon  all  human  beings  ;  for  this  would  be  to  substitute 
your  instinct  for  theirs  —  to  subject  their  judgment 
to  your  own  —  and,  therefore,  the  exercise  of  such 
a  principle  is  a  tyranny  over  the  human  race.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  you  allow  an  equal  authority  to 
the  sentiments  of  each  individual  in  his  estimate 
of  actions,  inasmuch  as  individuals  are  different,  their 
judgments  will  be  various,  and  thus  the  principle  is 
a  source  of  anarchy.  There  is  no  escape  from  this 
dilemma,  if  you  renounce  the  idea  that  actions  are 
to  be  judged  by  their  consequences;  for  the  moment 
that  you  abandon  this  test,  you  substitute,  for  con- 
sequences which  are  positive  and  can  be  calculated, 
and  which  present  the  same  appearance  to  all  men, 
mere  sentiments,  as  the  basis  for  moral  judgments  — 
that  is  to  say,  facts  peculiarly  individual,  and  con- 
sequently variable  —  sentiments  which  it  is  tyrannical 
to  impose,  and  anarchical  to  recognize,  as  a  basis 
for  moral  judgments. 

This  argument  being  exhausted,  says  Bentham,  let 
us  go  further ;  let  us  ask  the  opponent  of  the  prin- 
ciple of  utility  whether  his  a  priori  principle,  by 
which  he  pretends  that  acts  are  estimated,  is  a  blind 
one  or  not.  If  blind,  then  is  it  a  pure  instinct ; 
it  can  neither  be  justified  nor  explained;  and  all 
that  we  can  say  of  it  is  that  it  exists.  If  it  is  not 
blind,  then  it  is  rational ;  or,  in  other  words,  it  is 
a  law  and  rule,  applied  by  yourself,  and  from  which 
you  deduce  your  a  priori  estimate  of  actions.  If 
such  is  the  position  of  your  adversary,  continues 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  —  BENTHAM.  45 

Bentham,  demand  of  him  an  explanation  of  the  na- 
ture of  this  high  law,  by  which  he  judges  that  an  act 
is  good  or  bad.  Examine  this  rule  with  him,  and 
see  whether  it  indeed  is  something  distinct  from  the 
principle  of  utility.  And,  if  it  appears  to  be  so, 
oblige  him  to  define  it,  and  express  it  under  some 
formula,  so  distinct  as  to  enable  you  to  comprehend 
and  apply  it. 

Go  yet  further,  pursues  Bentham,  and,  admitting 
that  there  are  two  independent  principles,  the  principle 
of  utility  and  some  other  one,  request  your  antagonist 
to  distinguish  and  separate  them;  let  him  determine 
the  limits  within  which  the  principle  of  utility  may 
be  applied,  and  the  point  where  its  authority  stops, 
and  where  the  other  principle  begins  to  act ;  in  other 
words,  lead  him  to  establish,  rationally,  the  bounds 
to  the  operation  of  these  two  principles  respectively, 
and  to  prove  that  the  limits  which  he  assigns  them 
are  the  just  and  proper  limits. 

But  once  more,  says  Bentham,  suppose  that  the 
opponent  of  your  system  does  define  his  principle, 
and  does  fix  the  limits  to  its  lawful  control,  and  to 
that  of  utility,  it  still  remains  to  be  asked  whether 
its  assumed  jurisdiction  is  a  real  one,  and  whether 
this  principle,  distinct  from  that  of  utility,  does  really 
possess-  this  pretended  authority.  Urge,  then,  the 
advocate  of  this  principle  to  point  out  the  peculiar 
influence  of  this  principle  over  human  nature,  and 
beg  him  to  show  how  it  may  be  exerted  ;  for  the  mere 
imagination  of  a  principle,  and  the  assertion  that  it 
is  a  motive  of  human  volition,  will  not  suffice  to  give 
it  real  power  and  control ;  it  must  actually  possess 


46  JOUFFROY. 

and  exercise  this  sway  over  us,  or  it  is  but  a  chimeri- 
cal principle.  Whoever  believes  in  the  existence  of 
a  motive  distinct  from  utility,  is  bound,  therefore,  to 
show  that  this  motive  is  one  which  has  the  power 
of  exerting  a  determining  influence  over  the  human 
will. 

Bentham  supposes  that  no  opponent  of  the  principle 
of  utility  can  resist  such  arguments  as  these  ;  if  he 
escapes  one  of  these  snares,  he  must  inevitably,  ac- 
cording to  him,  fall  into  some  other. 

In  looking  over  the  works  of  Bentham,  I  have 
found,  in  addition  to  this  plan  of  attack  upon  the 
opponents  of  his  principle,  only  two  other  arguments 
against  them.  And,  in  order  that  you  may  have  a 
distinct  and  complete  idea  of  all  that  he  has  said  in 
the  controversial  part  of  his  writings,  I  will  now 
exhibit  these  to  you. 

A  law,  according  to  Bentham,  must  be  something 
exterior  to  the  subject  of  the  law.  Utility  is  thus 
exterior  to  the  individuals  controlled  by  it,  and  is 
made  up  of  material  facts,  which  can  be  easily  esti- 
mated, and  which,  as  they  result  visibly  from  our 
actions,  can  neither  be  disputed  nor  denied.  Utility, 
therefore,  is  an  exterior  thing,  that  can,  in  every 
case,  be  calculated  with  entire  certainty,  and  that 
can,  consequently,  be  imposed  as  a  law.  On  the 
contrary,  says  Bentham  to  his  opponent,  the  motive 
by  which  you  pretend  to  judge  of  the  gootl  and  evil 
of  actions,  being  an  inward  phenomenon,  cannot  be 
considered  as  a  law,  either  for  the  being  who  expert 
ences  the  sentiment,  or,  for  a  much  stronger  reason, 
for  him  who  experiences  a  different  sentiment,  or 


THE    SELFISH     SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  47 

none  at  all.  In  a  word,  it  cannot  be,  in  any  sense, 
a  rule. 

His  second  argument  is  as  follows:  If  you  admit 
the  principle  of  antipathy  and  sympathy,  you  must 
adopt  the  conclusion,  that  the  legislator  should  meas- 
ure his  penalties  by  the  degree  of  repugnance  which 
actions  awaken,  that  is,  by  the  instinctive  disappro- 
bation which  they  excite.  But  experience  proves 
that  legislators  have  never  followed  such  a  rule, 
and  good  sense  commends  their  conduct;  for  to  do 
so  would  lead  to  the  grossest  absurdities  in  legis- 
lation. 

And  here  ends  the  list  of  Bentham's  arguments 
against  the  opponents  of  his  principle.  It  becomes, 
now,  our  duty  to  take  them  up  successively,  and  to 
show  how  powerless  they  are  against  the  systems 
they  attack.  But,  first,  let  me  draw  your  attention  to 
a  great  confusion  of  ideas  into  which  a  mind,  so 
little  philosophical  as  Bentham's,  has  easily  fallen  ; 
I  must  carefully  remove  it  in  advance,  or  my  re- 
plies to  his  arguments  would  be  complicated  and 
obscure. 

It  is  the  more  important  that  this  confusion  should 
be  pointed  out,  because  it  has  been  employed  by  many 
partisans  of  the  system  of  utility,  as  a  means  of  escape 
from  those  consequences  of  their  opinions  which  are 
most  repugnant  to  common  sense.  Some,  like  Ben- 
tham,  have  fallen  into  it  instinctively  and  unawares; 
others  have  been  conscious  of  it,  and  have  endeav- 
ored to  justify  it ;  while  it  was  Hobbes's  distinction, 
that  he  saw  it,  and  refused  to  avail  himself  of 
its  aid. 


48  JOUFFROY. 

This  confusion  consists  in  substituting  the  rule 
of  general  interest  for  that  of  personal  interest,  of 
the  utility  of  the  whole  for  private  utility,  —  as  if  these 
rules  were  identical,  —  as  if  the  former  was  merely 
a  different  mode  of  expressing  the  latter,  —  and  as  if  it 
was  derived,  naturally  and  legitimately,  from  the  funda- 
mental principle  of  self-love. 

It  is  undeniable,  as  has  fully  appeared,  from  the 
exposition  which  I  have  given  of  his  system,  that 
Bentham  did  thus  substitute  one  rule  for  the  other. 
As  you  will  remember,  he  proceeds,  after  having  laid 
down  his  principle,  to  establish  some  modes  of  valua- 
tion for  the  moral  worth  of  actions ;  to  discuss  the 
question  whether  it  is  proper  to  consider  certain  acts 
as  crimes,  and  to  subject  the  agent  to  penalties ;  to 
examine  the  different  sanctions  for  law,  which  legis- 
lators can  employ,  and  the  limits  to  be  observed  in 
using  them ;  and,  in  all  his  reasonings  on  these  points, 
he  regards  no  longer  individual  interest,  but  general 
interest ;  the  former  he  wholly  loses  sight  of;  the 
latter  alone  occupies  his  attention ;  it  is  by  a  reference 
to  their  effects  upon  society  that  he  teaches  us  to  judge 
of  actions,  and  to  determine  their  worth ;  it  is  from 
the  consideration  of  their  influence  upon  society  that 
he  establishes  the  propriety  of  penal  laws;  and  it  is 
from  a  view  of  this  influence  that  he  defines  the  due 
limits  of  legal  restraints.  One  who  should  read  this 
portion  of  his  writings  only,  would  suppose  it  to  be 
his  principle,  that  the  motive  of  choice,  the  end 
of  action,  and  the  rule  for  conduct,  should  be  the 
pleasure,  happiness,  and  welfare  of  our  fellow-beings; 
for  the  ideas  of  personal  pleasure,  happiness,  and 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BEN1HAM.  49 

welfare,  wholly  disappear ;  they  are  not  even  men- 
tioned. 

Equally  undeniable  is  it,  that  Bentham  was  quite 
unconscious  of  thus  substituting  one  rule  for  the 
other.  Had  he  perceived  at  all  that  he  was  doing 
so,  —  had  he  once  thought  of  the  difference  in  the 
mode  of  expression,  even,  between  the  phrases  private 
interest  and  general  interest,  —  he  would  have  been 
struck  with  it,  and  would  have  felt  bound  to  remove 
any  doubt  from  the  minds  of  his  followers,  and  to 
have  established  the  identity  of  the  two  rules,  and 
their  equal  affinity  with  his  fundamental  maxim, 
that  pleasure  and  pain  control  the  acts  of  man.  There 
is  not  a  trace,  however,  of  any  such  consciousness 
in  the  writings  of  Bentham ;  for  the  use  of  the 
word  utility  completely  disguised  from  him  the  trans- 
formation which  his  ideas  had  undergone,  and  the 
mere  difference  of  expression  did  not  attract  his 
regard. 

Bentham,  then,  actually  made  this  substitution,  and 
he  did  it  quite  unconsciously.  Let  us  inquire,  now, 
whether  he  was  justified  in  so  doing.  And,  to  deter- 
mine this  point,  let  us,  in  the  first  place,  ascertain 
moro  precisely  the  nature  of  this  substitution,  and, 
then,  judge  how  far  it  is  compatible  with  the  princi- 
ples of  the  selfish  system.  > 

What  do  we  really  mean,  when  we  propose,  as  the 
rule  for  conduct,  individual  utility?  We  mean,  un- 
questionably, that  it  is  right  and  proper  to  do  what- 
ever will  give  us  the  greatest  amount  of  pleasure, 
and  save  us  most  from  pain.  Now,  what  do  we  mean, 

VOL.    II.  E 


50  JOUFFROY. 

on  the  other  hand,  when  we  propose,  as  a  rule,  gen- 
eral utility  ?  We  mean,  that  it  is  right  and  proper 
for  us  to  do,  in  all  cases,  what  will  be  productive 
of  the  greatest  amount  of  good,  not  only  to  those 
immediately  connected  with  us,  but  to  the  community 
of  which  we  are  members,  and  to  the  human  race 
at  large.  Such  is  the  true  import  of  these  two  rules 
respectively;  and  to  substitute  general  for  private 
utility,  is  to  establish  one  of  these  rules  in  place 
of  the  other. 

What,  now,  is  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  selfish 
system  ?  Bentham  exhibits  it  in  the  very  first  passage 
of  his  work,  in  saying,  that  pleasure  and  pain  govern 
the  acts  of  men ;  and  he  explains  his  meaning  yet 
more  clearly,  by  adding,  that  man  can  be  acted  upon 
by  nothing  but  pleasure  and  pain  ;  that  pleasure  and 
pain  are  the  sole  motives  of  choice;  that  the  only 
quality  by  which  acts  or  objects  can  be  estimated,  is 
their  property  of  producing  pleasure  or  pain ;  that, 
in  every  other  light,  they  are  indifferent  to  us ;  and 
thus,  in  fine,  that  the  prospect  of  pleasure  or  pain 
must  always  determine  our  judgments.  The  funda- 
mental hypothesis  of  the  selfish  system,  admitted  and 
professed,  as  it  has  been,  in  similar  terms,  by  Epi- 
curus, Hobbes,  Helvetius,  and  all  advocates  of  the 
system,  without  exception,  could  not  be  more  clearly 
expressed. 

It  remains  to  be  seen,  whether  this  hypothesis, 
which  is  the  essential  erernent  of  the  selfish  system, 
is  as  much  in  harmony  with  the  rule  of  general 
interest,  as  it  is  with  that  of  personal  interest; 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  —  BENTHAM.  51 

whether,  in  other  words,  it  justifies,  and  makes  legit- 
imate, one  equally  with  the  other.  For  myself,  I 
assert  that  it  does  not. 

When  we  assume,  as  Bentham  has  done,  the 
principle,  that  pain  and  pleasure  govern  mankind, 
and  that  man  is,  and  can  be,  influenced  by  nothing 
but  pleasure  and  pain,  of  what  kind  of  pleasures 
and  pains  are  we  understood  to  speak?  Evidently, 
sensible  pains  or  pleasures.  Now,  what,  for  any 
individual,  are  sensible  pleasures  or  pains?  Evi- 
dently, they  must  be  those  which  he  himself  experi- 
ences, and  not  those  which  others  experience ;  for 
he  does  not  feel  these  latter,  and,  not  feeling,  cannot 
be  influenced  by  them.  If  it  is  true,  then,  that  the 
only  thing  which  acts  upon  men  is  pleasure  and  pain, 
it  is  equally  true,  that  the  action  of  pleasure  and 
pain  upon  the  individual  is  limited  to  such  as  he 
personally  experiences ;  for,  to  repeat  what  was  just 
said,  the  pleasures  and  pains  of  other  individuals 
are  not  his,  and,  consequently,  have,  for  him,  no 
existence.  What,  then,  is  the  legitimate  conclusion 
of  Bentham's  principle,  that  pleasure  and  pain  govern 
mankind  ?  Certainly,  that  each  individual  is  impelled 
to  act  solely  by  his  personal  pleasures  and  pains ;  or,  to 
say  it  all  in  a  word,  that  the  end  to  be  pursued  by 
every  one  is  his  own  greatest  pleasure,  utility,  and 
private  interest.  Thus,  utility,  interest,  pleasure,  per- 
Bonal  well-being,  is  the  rule,  and  the  only  rule  for 
conduct,  to  be  drawn  from  the  principle  that  sen- 
sation is  the  sole  motive  of  volition.  Now,  nothing 
can  be  more  widely  separated  than  this  rule  and  that 
of  the  general  interest.  For  what  does  the  law  of 


52  JOUFFROY. 

general  interest  prescribe?  It  commands  the  indi- 
vidual to  act  with  reference,  not  to  his  own  private 
good,  but  to  the  greatest  good  of  society  and  of  man- 
kind; or,  in  other  words,  it  sets  before  him  as  his 
end,  not  his  own  peculiar  interest  and  utility,  but 
the  sum  total  of  human  interests;  the  interests  of  all 
men  must  he  labor  to  increase,  and  for  their  utility  is 
he  bound  to  exert  his  energies.  Such  an  end  is 
good,  and  I  cannot  but  approve  it ;  reason  easily  forms 
the  conception,  and  my  idea  of  it  is  perfectly  clear. 
But  if  pleasure  and  pain  are  the  only  motives  to 
.:!  action,  how  shall  T  be  impelled  to  devote  my  energies 
to  this  end?  If  it  be  replied  that  I  should  thus 
act,  either  because  I  suffer,  through  sympathy,  with 
the  pains,  and  rejoice,  through  sympathy,  with  the 
pleasures,  of  my  fellow-beings,  or  because,  by  respect- 
ing and  laboring  for  the  interest  of  others,  I  lead 
them  to  respect  and  labor  for  mine,  and  that  thus, 
when  the  matter  is  well  considered,  I  am  calculating 
wisely  for  my  own  good, — then  I  answer,  that,  ac- 
cording to  either  explanation,  I  am  acting,  not  for 
the  general  good,  but  for  my  own  private  good  ; 
so  that  the  end  to  be  sought  is  not  changed,  for  this 
still  remains  my  own  good ;  and  neither  is  the  motive 
changed,  for  it  continues,  as  before,  to  be  the  love 
of  my  own  good ;  the  general  interest,  then,  is  only 
a  means  to  this  end,  and  an  instrument  for  this 
motive;  the  pretended  rule,  therefoie,  of  the  general 
interest,  is  a  false  one,  and  individual  utility  alone, 

is    left   as  the    only    true  rule    for    action.       Nothing 

w^  • 

can  be  plainer  than  that  this  is  true ;  for,  according 
to  the  first  of  these  explanations  of  the  rule  of  general 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  53 

utility,  if  I  feel  that  the  pleasure  of  possessing 
another's  good  is  greater  than  the  pain  of  sympathy 
in  seeing  him  deprived  of  it,  I  have,  then,  a  right 
to  rob  him;  and,  according  to  the  second  explanation, 
I  have  the  same  right,  whenever  I  find  it  more  profit- 
able, on  the  whole,  to  violate  than  to  respect  his 
claims.  Singular  rule  of  general  utility,  indeed, 
that  thus  authorizes  me  to  steal !  And  let  no  one 
say,  in  reply,  that,  by  stealing,  I  shall  injure  my 
true  interest,  and  thus  disregard  the  consideration 
presented  by  the  second  mode  of  explanation ;  for 
on  what  ground,  I  ask,  if  I  am  influenced  by  nothing 
but  pleasure,  shall  I  prefer  your  manner  of  under- 
standing your  interest,  which  I  do  not  comprehend, 
to  my  manner  of  understanding  my  interest,  which 
I  do  comprehend  ?  And,  even  granting  that  I  see 
how  my  private  interests  are  always  included  in 
the  general  interests,  and  how,  by  promoting  these, 
I  secure  my  own,  yet  it  still  remains  true,  that  I 
regard  the  former  only  as  a  means  of  advancing  the 
latter ;  and  how,  then,  is  the  general  interest  a  rule  for 
me?  So  far,  then,  from  showing,  that  the  doctrine 
of  pain  and  pleasure,  as  the  only  motive  for  choice, 
justifies  the  substitution  of  the  law  of  general  utility 
for  that  of  personal  utility,  both  explanations  fully 
prove  that  such  a  substitution  is  impossible ;  arid,  as 
no  third  mode  of  justifying  such  a  substitution  has 
ever  been  offered,  it  seems  to  be  clearly  demonstrated, 
that  the  rule  of  general  utility  is  not  a  consequence 
of  the  principle  of  self-love,  and  cannot  be  deduced 
from  it.  The  only  rule  for  conduct,  which  the  prin- 
ciple of  self-love  can  give,  is  that  of  private  interest, 


54  JOUFFROY. 

and  every  philosopher  of  the  selfisn  school  has  been 
reduced  to  the  narrow  alternative  either  of  confining 
himself  to  this  rule,  or  of  removing  the  fundamental 

'  O 

principle  of  selfishness,  that  is  to  say,  of  giving  up 
his  system  altogether. 

Such,  gentlemen,  is  the  distinction  which  I  have 
felt  bound  clearly  to  point  out,  before  proceeding  to 
answer  the  arguments  of  Bentham ;  for,  had  I  not 
done  so,  I  should,  in  consequence  of  the  confusion 
of  his  ideas,  and  of  his  continual,  though  unconscious 
substitution  of  a  rule,  which  is  not  to  be  derived 
from  his  principle,  for  that  which  does  necessarily 
proceed  from  it,  have  been  called  upon  to  discuss 
two  different  systems  at  the  same  time,  instead  of 
one.  Here,  then,  we  have  Bentham  simplified ;  I 
have  a  right  to  reduce  him  to  this  single  rule  of 
personal  interest ;  and  I  know  well  with  whom  I 
have  to  do. 

You  must  not  think,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  treating 
Bentham  with  injustice,  or  misinterpreting  his  design, 
by  reducing  him  to  this  rule.  Independently  of  his 
fundamental  principle,  from  which  it  is  necessarily 
derived,  I  may  bring  proofs  of  his  opinions  from  his 
description  of  the  several  virtues  and  of  the  social  af- 
fections, all  of  which  he  explains  by  the  interest,  not 
of  society,  but  of  the  individual.  Ask  Bentham,  for 
instance,  why  we  should  speak  the  truth.  He  will 
answer,  Because  you  thus  secure  confidence.  Or, 
why  should  one  be  honest  ?  To  gain  credit ;  and 
he  adds,  that  we  must  have  invented  this  means  for 
making  a  fortune,  if  it  had  not  naturally  existed. 
Why  should  we  be  benevolent  1  Because  others  will 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  55 

then  be  kind  and  obliging  to  us.  Ask  him  again, 
for  what  reason  it  is  right  to  avoid  the  commission 
of  crimes  in  secret.  He  will  reply,  that  there  is 
danger  of  contracting  bad  habits,  which  will,  sooner 
or  later,  betray  themselves;  and  that  the  efforts  to 
keep  our  acts  unknown,  will  cause  constant  inquie- 
tude. Once  more  ;  how  does  he  explain  the  pleasure 
of  being  loved  ?  Our  pleasure,  according  to  him, 
arises  from  the  prospect  of  the  spontaneous  and 
gratuitous  services  which  we  anticipate  receiving 
from  those  who  love  us.  What  is  the  pleasure  of 
possessing  power  1  It  is  the  feeling,  that  we  can 
procure  the  aid  of  our  fellow-beings,  either  through 
fear  of  the  evil,  or  hope  of  the  good,  which  we  can 
render.  Lastly,  what  is  the  pleasure  of  piety  ?  Ben- 
tham  declares  that  it  is  the  expectation  of  the  favor 
of  God  in  this  life  and  another.  Hence  you  see 
that  Bentham  has  fully  comprehended  the  true  motive 
which  should  lead  the  lover  of  self  to  respect  gen- 
eral utility,  and  that,  in  the  detail,  he  is  as  strict 
as  Hobbes,  in  following  out  the  consequence  of  his 
principle,  although  much  less  consistent  in  his  theory. 
Let  me  mention  one  more  of  his  opinions,  from  which 
you  will  be  enabled  fully  to  understand  his  ideas  upon 
this  subject.  Why  should  a  man  keep  his  promise  ? 
Because,  says  Bentham,  it  is  useful  to  do  so.  He  may 
break  a  promise,  then,  if  it  would  injure  him  to 
observe  it  ?  Certainly,  he  replies.  I  have  not,  then, 
done  Bentham  the  least  injustice,  in  reducing  him 
to  the  rule  of  personal  interest ;  and  it  is  on  this 
ground,  therefore,  that  I  meet  him  to  discuss  <he 
validity  of  his  arguments. 


56  JOUFFROY. 

And,  in  the  first  place,  gentlemen,  it  is  an  unde- 
niable fact,  which  I  have  no  desire  of  disputing, 
that  every  one  does  admit,  as  Bentham  asserts,  that 
the  motive  of  utility  is  one  among  those  which  de- 
termine human  action.  This  motive,  undoubtedly, 
controls  many  of  our  volitions,  and,  consequently, 
many  of  our  acts.  Now,  the  question  to  be  decided 
is,  whether  this  is  the  only  motive  of  choice,  or 
whether  others  are  also  active  in  human  nature.  In 
other  words,  we  are  to  inquire  whether  we  do  dis- 
tinguish between  actions  only  by  an  anticipation  of 
their  beneficial  or  injurious  consequences,  or  whether, 
on  the  contrary,  we  have  also  some  other  tests  by 
which  we  judge. 

If  I,  then,  was  the  adversary  whom  Bentham  was 
trying  to  convert,  and  he  should  ask  me  to  examine 
this  other  motive,  seemingly  so  different  from  that  of 
utility,  already  admitted  by  me  to  be  active,  and  to 
see  whether  it  was  not  really  this  principle  of  utility 
in  disguise,  —  I  should  reply,  that  I  was  perfectly 
convinced  it  was  not,  and  that  the  reason  for  my 
conviction  was  the  fact,  that  the  characteristics  of 
the  two  principles  were  not  only  very  dissimilar,  but 
altogether  opposite.  For  what  is  the  meaning  of 
utility  ?  It  means  something  that  is  good  for  me, 
agreeable  to  me.  Whenever  I  judge  and  act,  then, 
on  the  ground  of  utility,  I  do  so  from  a  personal 
motive.  It  is  from  a  consideration  of  the  influence 
of  the  action  upon  myself — an  influence  which  is 
good  or  bad,  agreeable  or  disagreeable  for  myself — 
that  I  judge  of  its  expediency,  and  determine  upon 
its  performance.  The  motive  of  judgment  and  ao 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  57 

tion  is  personal,  therefore,  when  I  determine  upon 
a  course  of  conduct,  because  it  is  useful.  Now, 
nothing  can  be  more  unlike  such  a  principle  as  this, 
than  the  other  principle,  which  I  also  recognize,  and 
which  I  have  called  the  principle  of  order.  When 
I  determine  upon  an  act,  under  the  influence  of  this 
principle  of  order,  I  do  so,  not  because  it  is  good 
for  me,  but  because  it  is  good  in  itself;  not  because 
it  is  agreeable  to  me,  but  because  it  is  proper  in  itself. 
Acting  from  this  principle  of  order,  then,  and  regard- 
ing actions  not  in  their  relations  to  me,  but  to  some- 
thing different  from  me,  —  that  is  to  say,  order,  —  I 
am  impelled,  not  by  a  personal,  but  by  an  impersonal 
motive.  Not  only,  therefore,  is  this  other  principle 
recognized  by  me,  as  not  the  principle  of  utility  in  dis- 
guise, but  nothing  can  be  imagined  more  entirely 
unlike  and  opposed  to  it;  because,  in  the  first  place, 
its  characteristics  are  completely  opposite  to  those 
of  the  principle  of  utility ;  because,  secondly,  the 
volitions  which  I  form  under  the  influence  of  this 
principle,  differ  from  those  which  result  from  the 
influence  of  utility;  and,  thirdly,  because  it  is  the 
effect  of  the  act  upon  myself  which  I  regard  in 
the  one  case,  while,  in  the  other,  I  look  only  to  the 
nature  of  the  act  in  itself,  independently  of  its  effect. 
No  two  things,  therefore,  can  be,  I  will  not  say 
more  distinct,  but  more  entirely  contrary  to  each 
other,  than  the  principle  of  utility  and  the  moral 
principle. 

I  admit,  then,  all  that  Bentham  wishes  me  to  admit ; 
I  recognize,  in  the  first  place,  a  principle  which  is 
distinct  from  utility,  and  which  is  not  utility  in 


58  JOUFFROY. 

disguise;  and  I  recognize,  in  the  second  place,  that 
this  principle  does  not,  in  its  estimate  of  actions, 
judge  of  them  by  a  view  of  their  agreeable  or  dis- 
agreeable consequences,  but  by  a  quite  different 
test. 

And  now  let  us  go  a  step  further,  and  ask  whether 
it  is  true,  as  Bentham  asserts,  that  such  a  principle 
must  either  be  despotic  or  anarchical.  This  I  en- 
tirely deny,  and  maintain  that  the  only  principle 
which  really  is  subject  to  this  alternative,  is  the  prin- 
ciple of  utility  itself. 

And,  to  enable  you  to  judge  of  the  correctness 
of  this  assertion,  consider,  for  a  moment,  the  argu- 
ments adduced  by  Bentham  in  favor  of  his  opinion. 
Bentham  says  that,  as  the  consequences  of  actions 
upon  the  well-being  of  an  individual  are  material, 
visible,  and  palpable  facts,  it  is  impossible  that  men 
should  disagree  as  to  the  good  or  evil  nature  of  these 
consequences.  This  I  may  readily  grant ;  I  may 
admit  that  a  jury  of  unprejudiced  and  unbiased  men, 
assembled  to  consider  whether  a  certain  act  will  be 
productive  to  an  individual  of  more  or  less  pain 
than  pleasure,  would  probably  agree  in  their  opinion ; 
but  I  assert  that  to  put  the  question,  as  to  the  ten- 
dency of  the  two  principles,  in  this  way,  is  entirely 
to  misstate  it ;  and,  therefore,  that  the  argument  drawn 
by  Bentham  from  the  unanimity  of  the  jury,  does 
nothing  whatever  to  prove  the  point  which  he  pre- 
tends to  establish. 

For  what  is  the  fair  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from 
the  unanimity  of  the  answer  ?  Simply  this ;  that, 
when  the  selfish  definition  of  good  is  admitted,  men 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  59 

may  easily  agree  as  to  what  will  be  for  the  good 
of  any  particular  individual. 

But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  still  defining  good  in 
the  same  way,  different  individuals  should  be  led  to 
consider,  as  good  for  themselves,  objects  and  acts 
which  are  quite  opposite  and  unlike,  would  there 
not  then  arise  quite  as  much  strife,  and  consequently 
anarchy,  as  there  had  before  been  accordance  ? 

That,  with  the  selfish  definition  of  good  before 
them,  a  jury  might  agree  as  to  what  would  benefit 
a  certain  individual,  I  readily  admit.  But  if,  with 
the  same  definition  of  good,  this  jury  should  equally 
agree  that  what  was  good  for  this  individual  was  bad 
for  another,  its  unanimity  would  then  only  serve  to 
prove  that  the  good  of  the  first  was  the  evil  of  the 
second,  and  that  what  one  has  the  right  to  do,  the 
other  has  the  right  to  prevent  him  from  doing;  from 
which  it  would  appear  that  the  selfish  definition  of 
good  leads  directly  to  anarchy. 

Bentham  misstates,  therefore,  the  question,  and  his 
argument  is  a  sophism.  The  true  question  is  this: 
"  Does  the  selfish  principle  —  or,  what  amounts  to 
the  same  thing,  does  the  definition  that  it  gives 
of  good  —  tend  to  divide  or  to  unite  individuals?" 
Tnus  put,  the  question  receives,  from  both  reason 
and  experience,  an  answer  exactly  contrary  to  that 
which  Bentham  has  seen  fit  to  give. 

If  good  for  myself  and  for  every  other  person  is 
the  greatest  amount  of  pleasure  which  I  or  they  can 
enjoy,  —  and  if,  consequently,  each  has  the  right  to 
do  whatever  will  conduce  to  this  end,  —  is  it  not 
evident,  unless  I  always  find  that  most  for  my  pleasure 


60  JOUFFROY. 

which  others  do  for  theirs,  and  unless  they  always 
find  that  most  for  their  pleasure  which  I  do  for  mine, 
that  we  shall  be  brought  into  conflict,  division,  arid 
anarchy?  Thus  says  reason.  And  what  is  the  lesson 
of  experience?  Experience  declares  that,  in  a  vast 
number  of  instances,  what  seems  useful  to  one  is 
judged  to  be  injurious  by  another,  and  that  the  very 
same  act  has  a  wholly  different,  and  often  altogether 
an  opposite,  influence  upon  the  interests  of  indi- 
viduals ;  so  that,  should  every  individual  do,  in  all 
cases,  just  what  seemed  most  advantageous  to  himself, 
without  regarding  any  other  considerations,  society 
would  be  in  a  constant  state  of  anarchy.  Experience 
declares  that  the  cause  of  the  strifes  which  disturb 
society,  and  which  would  wholly  overthrow  it,  were  it 
not  for  the  restraints  of  law,  is  the  fact,  that  so  many 
individuals  do  give  themselves  wholly  up  to  the  pursuit 
of  their  own  private  interests ;  and  she  adds,  that 
this  same  principle  introduces  strife  between  nations 
as  it  does  between  individuals,  and  thus  scatters 
through  the  whole  human  race  the  same  anarchy 
that  it  produces  in  separate  communities,  unless  its 
action  is  checked ;  so  that,  to  profess  the  legitimacy 
of  individual  pursuit  of  interests,  and  to  assert  that 
whoever  seeks  his  own  private  good  does  right,  is 
to  proclaim  the  principle  of  universal  anarchy  at  once. 
Such  are  the  dictates  of  reason  and  experience,  and, 
as  you  plainly  see,  they  nowise  accord  with  the 
opinions  of  Benlham. 

Suppose,  now,  that  you  dislike  this  anarchy,  and 
that  you  desire  to  repress  or  prevent  this  conflict 
among  individual  interests;  —  I  ask  in  what  manner, 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  61 

according  to  the  selfish  system,  you  would  proceed. 
Good  being  altogether  an  individual  thing,  you  can 
set  up  and  establish  no  law  but  that  of  personal 
well-being ;  and  the  interests  of'  different  individuals 
being  at  the  same  time  opposed,  and  yet  equally 
legitimate,  the  law  cannot  be  executed  without  tram- 
pling under  foot  the  interests  of  some  individual 
or  other,  which  interests  are  nevertheless  legitimate; 
that  is  to  say,  the  final  result  of  anarchy,  according 
to  the  selfish  system,  is  the  forcible  triumph  of  one 
particular  interest  over  all  other  interests  in  the  com- 
munity. Now,  what  is  such  a  triumph  as  this  except 
a  despotism  ?  Here,  again,  experience  entirely  con- 
firms the  results  which  we  arrive  at  by  reasoning. 
For  what  other  origin  does  she  assign  to  despotism, 
or  what  other  nature  does  she  recognize  in  it,  than 
these  which  I  have  just  described  —  namely,  that  the 
interests  of  one  or  of  a  few  have  triumphed  over 
and  trampled  down  the  interests  of  all  others  ?  Ac- 
cording, therefore,  to  the  judgments  of  universal 
common  sense,  self-Jove,  or  the  selfish  principle,  is 
the  source  of  all  anarchy  and  despotism.  What 
would  become  of  the  world  if  it  was  governed  ex- 
clusively by  selfishness? 

I  well  know  —  and  I  have  already  fully  admitted 
it  in  my  remarks  upon  the  system  of  Hobbes  —  that 
there  are  so  many  and  such  active  social  principles 
cooperating  to  produce  individual  happiness,  as  to 
fender  wholly  impossible  the  state  of  war  which  this 
philosopher  has  supposed  natural.  But  observe,  gen- 
tlemen, this  is  wholly  owing  to  the  fact  that  man  is 
constituted  as  he  now  is,  and  not  as  the  selfish  system 

VOL.    II.  F 


62  JOUFFROY. 

supposes  him  to  be.  For  how  happens  it,  that  a 
man,  pursuing  his  own  good,  according  to  the  principle 
of  interest  well  understood,  acts  with  justice  and 
kindness  to  his  fellow-men,  and  follows  in  his  conduct 
the  rules  of  social  love  and  charity?  It  is  hecause, 
in  human  beings,  such  as  we  find  them,  other  prin- 
ciples beside  self-love  are  active;  because  man  has 
the  conception  of  order,  and  loves  it,  and  has  an 
inward  enjoyment  when  he  feels  in  his  soul  the  senti- 
ment of  it,  and  acts  in  accordance  with  it,  and,  on 
the  contrary,  an  insupportable  pain  when  he  opposes 
it ;  because  the  social  and  benevolent  instincts  are 
perfectly  in  harmony  with  order,  and  receive  from 
this  correspondence  a  peculiar  force  and  sweetness, 
which  give  to  their  gratification  a  greater  power 
of  producing  happiness  than  any  merely  selfish  instinct 
can  possess.  If  we  suppose  men  to  continue  as  they 
now  are,  the  pursuit  of  personal  well-being  will  not 
necessarily  bring  them  into  conflict ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  allows  of  union  and  concert,  and  therefore  have 
I  asserted  that  Hobbes  could  not.  legitimately  conclude, 
from  his  principle,  that  the  state  of  war  was  the  state 
of  nature,  except  by  mutilating  the  element  of  pleasure. 
But  if,  on  the  contrary,  we  conceive  of  human  beings 
under  the  selfish  point  of  view,  and  admit  it  to  be 
true  that  they  are  acted  upon  by  nothing  except 
pleasure  and  pain,  then,  with  the  natural  authority 
of  order,  disappear  at  once  all  pleasures  and  pains 
which  the  sentiment  of  order  produces,  and  all  the 
energy  which  it  communicates  to  the  action  of  the 
benevolent  affections ;  the  balance  and  harmony  of 
the  faculties  is  destroyed ;  the  selfish  impulses  subdue 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  63 

the  social  impulses ;  the  pursuit  of  intefest  well  under- 
stood leads  to  entirely  different  results,  because  the 
elements  of  good  itself  are  changed ;  and  Hobbes 
may  then  with  truth  declare,  that  anarchy  and  war 
are  the  state  of  nature.  Hence  we  see,  that,  though 
Hobbes  has  been  false  to  human  nature,  in  proclaiming 
that  anarchy  or  despotism  is  the  natural  alternative 
which  results  from  the  pursuit  of  individual  interest, 
yet  has  he  been  perfectly  logical  in  declaring  that 
this  is  the  strict  consequence  of  the  selfish  principle. 
Hobbes,  willing  as  he  was  to  reason,  and  to  follow 
out  the  tendency  of  his  principle  —  Hobbes,  who 
had  nothing  of  Bentham's  contempt  for  discussion  — 
saw  distinctly  the  end  to  which  the  principle  of  self- 
love  leads,  and  the  narrow  alternative  to  which  it 
reduces  mankind ;  while  Bentham,  so  far  from  being 
aware  of  it,  brings  this  charge,  to  which  the  selfish 
principle  alone  is  liable,  against  systems  which  declare 
the  existence  and  action  of  an  impersonal  motive, 
and  which,  consequently,  cannot  deserve  the  reproach. 

Consider,  now,  for  a  moment,  the  test  which  the 
moral  principle  applies  to  conduct,  and  see,  gentlemen, 
whether  it  is  not  precisely  what  we  need  to  save 
the  world  and  human  society  from  the  terrible  alter- 
native which  Bentham  has  seen  fit  to  attribute  to  its 
influence.  Bentham  declares  that  the  moral  judgment 
of  actions  must  be  obscure  and  uncertain ;  but  nothing, 
in  truth,  can  be  simpler  or  more  clear. 

Suppose,  for  instance,  that  we  see  a  mother  and 
child  ;  will  any  one  say  that  these  two  beings  have 
no  connection  with  each  other,  and  that,  independ- 
ently of,  and  prior  to  all  human  judgments,  there 


C4  JOUFFROY. 

are  no  relations  between  them,  which  reason  did  not 
invent  and  cannot  destroy,  but  sees  to  be  already  ex- 
isting ?  No  one  would  deny  that  they  do  sustain  such 
relations.  From  the  mere  fact  that  one  of  these 
beings  is  a  mother  and  the  other  a  child,  they  are 
united  together  by  a  tie  which  is  peculiar,  sui  generis, 
and  distinct  from  all  other  human  relations.  I  ask, 
now,  a  second  question.  Do  there  not  result  from 
this  peculiar  relation,  as  a  necessary  consequence, 
feelings  and  acts  which  are  proper  and  suitable  be- 
tween these  two  beings?  In  other  words,  I  ask 
whether,  from  the  fact  that  one  of  them  is  the 
mother,  it  does  not  seem  right,  in  the  view  of  reason, 
that  she  should  take  care  of  her  child,  satisfy  its 
wants,  protect  its  weakness,  supply  the  defects  of  its 
intelligence,  and  under  no  pretext  whatever  abandon 
it;  and  whether,  again,  from  the  fact  that  the  other 
being  is  the  child,  it  does  not  seem  equally  proper 
and  right,  that,  as  soon  as  it  is  able  to  comprehend 
its  relation,  it  should  manifest  gratitude  and  respect 
towards  its  mother,  and  serve  and  protect  her,  and 
never  desert  her  in  her  old  age.  Can  there  be  even 
a  shadow  of  doubt  upon  this  point?  Can  a  human 
being  be  found,  who  would  hesitate  to  approve  this 
conduct  upon  both  sides,  and  to  disapprove  of  the 
opposite  ?  And  not  only  so,  but  also  to  command 
the  first  as  a  duty,  and  to  forbid  the  second  as  a 
crime  ?  Thus,  from  the  nature  of  this  relation, 
which  unites  the  child  to  the  mother,  and  the  mother 
to  the  child,  arises  a  distinct  conception  of  the  treat- 
ment which  is  proper  and  right,  from  one  towards 
the  other;  and  this  conception  arises  wholly,  you 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  65 

will  observe,  from  the  idea  of  this  relation ;  for  it  is 
independent  of  all  other  considerations.  The  nature 
of  the  conduct,  which  is  on  both  sides  becoming,  is 
nowise  altered  by  the  disagreeable  qualities  of  the 
child  in  its  youth,  or  of  the  parent  in  its  age.  How- 
ever much  the  mother  may  love  pleasure  and  repose ; 
however  much  the  care  of  her  child  may  cause 
trouble  and  sacrifice  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  what- 
ever the  considerations  of  interest  which  may  lead  the 
child  to  regret  the  necessity  of  protecting  and  sustain- 
ing the  declining  years  of  its  parent, —  the  relation 
and  its  appropriate  duties  remain  unchanged,  and 
the  very  beings  most  interested  judge  of  them  as 
an  unconcerned  beholder  would.  This  is  precisely 
because  this  judgment  is  based,  not  upon  the  prospect 
of  the  utility  of  right  conduct  to  either  being,  but 
upon  a  conception  of  the  eternal  order  of  things ; 
therefore  it  is,  that  it  pronounces  this  conduct  good 
in  itself;  and  it  is  because  this  goodness  is  absolute 
and  universal  for  all  beings,  that  it  declares  it  to  be 
obligatory,  and  a  duty.  If,  then,  I  should  be  asked 
whence  I  derive  my  estimate  of  the  moral  quality 
of  actions,  my  answer  may  be  readily  inferred  from 
this  example.  I  derive  it  from  the  nature  of  things, 
from  the  eternal  order  established  by  the  Creator ; 
and  it  only  needs  that  a  being  should  be  reasonable, 
to  conceive  of  this  order,  and  comprehend  what  acts 
are  becoming  and  proper  in  all  the  relations  of  life. 
For  instance,  I  bring  to  the  test  of  this  moral  prin- 
ciple two  men,  who  are  both  desirous  to  increase 
their  property  at  each  other's  expense ;  and  by  the 
authority,  and  in  the>  name  of  absolute  good,  I  pass 


60  JOUFFROY. 

a  judgment  upon  their  rival  pretensions,  which  would 
meet  with  the  approbation  of  every  rational  being, 
and  to  which  they  cannot  refuse  to  listen.  They  may 
find  this  decision  contrary,  indeed,  to  their  interests, 
and  with  reason,  because  interest  is  personal,  and 
private  good  is  far  removed  from  absolute  good  ;  it 
is  very  possible,  too,  that  they  may  reject  it,  and 
prefer  what  is  profitable  to  what  is  right;  but  even 
while  doing  so,  they  will  be  obliged  to  recognize 
its  justice,  and  respect  its  truth  ;  and  reason  will 
compel  them  to  acknowledge  that  it  does  express 
and  declare  that  which  is  absolutely  right,  and  which 
ought  to  be  done. 

Whence,  now,  gentlemen,  comes  the  universal  re- 
spect for  decisions  drawn  from  the  moral  principle, 
even  in  the  minds  of  those  whose  interests  it  may 
injure  ?  From  the  single  fact  that  this  principle  is 
impersonal,  and  passes  judgment,  not  with  reference 
to  what  is  agreeable  to  you  and  to  me,  but  to  what 
is  right  in  itself  and  in  the  nature  of  things.  Now, 
as  the  nature  of  things  is  permanent,  and  of  a  char- 
acter to  be  recognized  by  all  rational  beings,  the 
actions  upon  which  judgment  is  passed  in  reference 
to  this  standard  must  be  equally  manifest  to  all ; 
and,  as  the  mode  of  judging  is  universally  approved, 
and  the  conduct  conformable  to  these  judgments  is 
universally  obligatory,  the  rules  thence  resulting  may 
be  imposed  upon  all  as  duties ;  while,  on  the  con- 
trary, when  acts  are  judged  of  by  the  test  of  per- 
sonal interest,  there  will  be  as  many  different  esti- 
mates as  there  are  individuals,  each  individual  ap- 
proving only  what  is  agreeable  to  himself,  and  finding 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  67 

every  thing  else  odious  and  detestable.  The  estimate 
of  acts,  then,  by  the  rule  of  utility,  is  necessarily  anar- 
chical, and  can  be  enforced  practically  only  through  des- 
potism. In  so  far,  therefore,  as  mankind  do  escape  this 
alternative,  between  anarchy  and  despotism,  it  must  be 
owing  to  the  existence  of  a  mode  of  judging  conduct, 
which,  as  it  is  based  upon  something  permanent  and 
universally  recognized,  conducts  all  reasonable  beings 
to  uniform  judgments,  and  which,  as  it  is  approved 
as  good  in  itself,  is  admitted  to  be  right,  and  is 
respected  even  by  those  whose  interests  it  injures, 
and  who  refuse  to  be  bound  by  its  decisions.  Whether 
it  is  a  king  or  beggar,  who  declares,  "  Thou  shalt  not 
steal,"  the  command  neither  gains  nor  loses  its  au- 
thority;  the  robber  and  the  robbed  alike  acknowl- 
edge its  justice.  All  men,  then,  are  morally  united 
by  this  principle,  and  acknowledge  that  they  are  legit- 
imately subject  to  its  sway. 

I  have  thus  repelled,  altogether,  as  you  see,  the 
charge  of  producing  anarchy  or  despotism,  brought 
by  Bentham,  against  what  he  calls  the  principle  of 
sympathy  and  antipathy,  and  have  clearly  shown  that 
it  applies  to  his  own  principle  of  utility. 

Bentham  has  further  inquired,  whether  this  princi- 
ple is  a  blind  instinct,  or  a  rule  to  be  definitely  ex- 
pressed, and  rationally  applied,  in  the  estimate  of 
actions.  The  developments  into  which  I  have 
already  entered  answer  this  question  at  once.  Un- 
questionably, the  laws  of  order  are  something  per- 
ceptible to  reason ;  and  when  we  act  in  obedience 
to  these  laws,  we  do  so  intelligently,  and  not  from 
instinct.  I  only  remark  further,  that  it  is  true  in 


68  JOUFFROY. 

relation  to  these  laws,  as  to  every  province  of  human 
intelligence,  that  different  minds  will  recognize  them 
with  different  degrees  of  distinctness,  and,  conse- 
quently, will  form  of  them  a  more  or  less  complete 
and  perfect  idea.  Practical  men,  who  cannot  con- 
ceive of  shades  of  distinctness  in  the  ideas  of  men, 
will  not,  of  course,  admit  these  differences,  and,  not 
admitting,  will  not  trouble  themselves  about  them. 
That  human  minds  should  be  full  of  such  shades 
and  differences,  and  that  it  is  precisely  these  which 
distinguish  individuals,  is  a  matter  of  little  moment 
to  them ;  these  are  facts  which  they  overlook,  and 
of  which  their  philosophy  takes  no  heed.  These 
differences  do  exist,  however ;  and  though  not  for 
the  sake  of  practical  men,  yet  for  yours,  gentlemen, 
who  are  capable  of  comprehending  them,  let  me 
here  remark,  that  intelligence,  and,  consequently, 
conscience,  is  developed  very  unequally  in  different 
men,  and  that  these  differences  are  innumerable. 
There  are  those  in  whom  the  perception  of  order 
is  so  indistinct,  that  it  resembles  a  sentiment  more 
than  an  idea ;  and  the  estimates  and  volitions  resulting 
from  it  seem  more  like  the  effects  of  instinct  than 
the  consequences  of  a  judgment.  This  it  is  which 
has  led  some  philosophers  to  consider  human  con- 
science as  a  sense,  that  perceives  the  moral  good 
or  ill  of  actions,  as  taste  and  smell  perceive  flavors 
and  odors.  In  truth,  judgments,  arising  from  a  sen- 
timent, do  closely  resemble  those  which  result  from 
a  confused  idea ;  and  it  is  under  this  indistinct  form 
that  the  laws  of  order  are  recognized  by  those  in 
whose  minds  intellect  is  but  imperfectly  developed  • 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  69 

that  is  to  say,  by  the  greatest  portion  of  mankind. 
Moral  ideas,  therefore,  are  subject  to  the  same  law 
with  all  our  other  ideas  ;  they  begin  in  indistinctness 
and  confusion,  and,  in  most  minds,  always  remain 
in  this  state ;  and,  it  is  while  thus  indistinct,  that 
they  exercise  the  most  influence,  for  then  are  they 
poetical :  the  poet  presents  his  ideas  under  indefinite 
forms ;  the  moment  he  expresses  them  clearly  and 
distinctly,  he  becomes  a  philosopher,  as  I  have  so 
often  explained.  These  confused  views  of  order, 
however,  may  become  more  and  more  precise,  in 
infinite  degrees,  in  proportion  as  individuals  receive 
from  education,  and  from  the  experience  of  life, 
a  more  complete  culture  of  their  powers ;  so  that,  in 
certain  minds,  they  may  finally  be  transformed  into 
perfectly  bright  conceptions.  Between  moral  ideas, 
as  they  exist  in  the  consciences  of  the  majority 
of  men,  and  in  such  a  mind  as  Kant's,  when  he 
was  writing  his  work  on  the  principles  of  ethics, 
and  the  rules  of  duty,  there  may  be  innumerable 
shades  of  clearness.  Often  do  we  see  men  in  whose 
minds  portions  of  the  laws  of  order  are  perfectly 
distinct,  while  others  still  remain  confused :  and  this 
is  owing  to  the  fact,  that  particular  circumstances 
of  their  lives  have  led  them  to  reflect  upon  parts 
of  the  moral  law,  while  upon  others  they  have  never 
had  occasion  seriously  to  reflect.  Such  men  judge 
of  the  moral  worth  of  certain  acts  in  a  perfectly 
reasonable  way,  while,  in  their  estimates  of  others, 
they  are  guided  merely  by  sentiment,  like  other 
men.  This  example  will  suffice  to  show  how  ideas 
of  the  moral  law  may  be  developed  unequally  in  dif- 


70  JOUFFROY. 

ferent  minds,  and  how  they  may  become  entirely 
distinct  in  the  few.  But  no  single  human  being  is 
wholly  destitute  of  them  ;  for  they  exist  even  where 
they  are  most  confused  and  obscure.  It  is  the  effect 
of  a  good  education  to  develop  the  reason,  by  re- 
moving from  our  moral  ideas  the  shades  of  indistinct- 
ness which  first  enshroud  them,  and  which  the  ex- 
perience of  life  rarely  clears  away,  unless  reflection, 
early  directed  to  their  contemplation  and  study,  is 
prepared  to  receive  their  teachings. 

My  answer,  then,  to  Bentham,  is,  that  the  moral 
principle  is  not  an  instinct,  but  the  combined  truths 
which  are  perceptible  to  reason,  and  of  which  all 
men  have  a  view  more  or  less  distinct ;  but  that,  even 
when  this  view  is  confused,  it  still  exerts  an  influence, 
as  universal  experience  attests,  and  is  sufficiently 
active,  as  experience  also  proves,  to  make  those  in 
whom  it  is  found  responsible.  This  responsibility 
is  weakened  only,  not  destroyed,  in  those  in  whom 
the  idea  of  order  is  obscure ;  while  its  full  obligations 
rest  upon  all  in  whom  the  view  of  these  laws  is 
clear. 

Once  more,  Bentham  requires,  that,  if  we  are  ob- 
stinately bent  upon  admitting  another  principle  beside 
that  of  utility,  we  should  define  the  limits  of  these 
several  principles,  and  explain  the  reason  why  the 
authority  of  one  should  cease  at  a  certain  point,  and 
the  influence  of  the  other  there  begin.  He  requires, 
in  a  word,  that  we  should  mark  the  bounds  for  the 
action  of  each  principle,  and  our  reasons  for  so 
doing. 

Nothing   is   easier   than   to   give   this    explanation, 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  71 

and  thus  escape  from  the.  difficulty.  It  hardly  needs, 
indeed,  to  be  explained.  Which  of  the  two  should 
we  do  —  what  is  right  in  itself,  or  what  is  to  us 
agreeable?  This  is  the  question;  and,  I  ask  you, 
gentlemen,  should  you  have  a  moment's  hesitation 
in  replying  1  Would  you  not  at  once  tell  me  that 
it  was  better  to  do  what  is  right  than  what  is  acrree- 

O  O 

able  ?  Bentham's  question,  then,  is  answered.  With- 
out a  doubt,  good  or  absolute  right  is  a  higher  rule 
of  action  than  relative  good  or  private  utility.  When- 
ever, then,  these  two  rules  come  in  collision,  personal 
well-being  is  to  be  sacrificed  —  so  says  reason  in  the 
mind  of  every  human  being;  and  it  decides  thus, 
because  it  perceives  that  one  of  these  goods,  being 
absolute,  has  in  itself  an  obligatory  and  sacred  char- 
acter, while  the  other  has  no  such  character  in  itself, 
and  cannot  have,  except  through  its  conformity  with 
what  is  absolutely  good.  It  is  perfectly  easy,  then, 
to  mark  the  limit  so  imperiously  demanded  by  Ben- 
tham  ;  one  principle  is  lawful  —  the  principle  of  good 
in  itself;  the  principle  of  personal  good,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  neither  lawful  nor  unlawful ;  its  demands 
and  requisitions  assume  this  character  only  in  so  far 
as  they  are  more  or  less  conformed  to  the  rule  of 
absolute  good.  This  is  the  simple  truth  as  we  find 
it  in  our  nature.  And  again  I  repeat  what  I  have  so 
often  said  before,  that  I  have  no  wish  to  do  injustice 
to  the  motive  of  personal  interest ;  for  it  exists  in  us  — 
it  is  a  part  of  our  nature  —  and  therefore  is  it  good. 
The  instinctive  tendencies  of  our  nature  are  also  good ; 
but  this  nowise  prevents  personal  interest,  which  is 
only  these  natural  impulses  made  intelligent  and  rea 


JOUFFROY. 


sonable,  from  being  a  better  principle  of  conduct. 
Why,  then,  should  not  the  view  of  absolute  good 
have  alike  superiority  over  that  of  personal  good?  — 
and  who  can  deny  that  it  has?  Instinct,  self-love, 
morality  —  these  are  the  three  stages  by  which  a 
human  being  rises  from  the  condition  of  the  brute 
to  that  of  the  angel ;  and  to  destroy  either  of  them 
is  to  forget  the  lowness  of  its  origin,  and  the  loftiness 
of  its  destiny ;  in  other  words,  it  is  to  mutilate,  on 
one  si(Je  or  the  other,  the  history  of  its  development. 
And  these  three  states  are  but  three  phases  of  one 
and  the  same  development.  As  interest  is  only  in- 
stinct understood  and  comprehended  by  reason,  so, 
from  an  elevated  point  of  view,  we  might  say  that 
morality  is  only  self-love  understood  and  compre- 
hended; for,  if  the  sentiment  of  our  being  in  harmony 
and  cooperation  with  universal  order  is  the  happiest 
that  our  nature  can  experience,  is  it  not  a  sure  indi- 
cation that  the  true  vocation,  and  unseen,  though  final 
end,  to  which  its  impulses  and  its  self-love  uncon- 
sciously conspire,  is  to  unite  with  universal  order 
without  losing  itself;  or,  in  other  words,  to  cooperate 
intelligently,  according  to  the  measure  of  its  power, 
with  the  grand  end  of  the  universe?  But,  however 
this  may  be,  the  limit  demanded  by  Bentham  is  still 
easily  fixed;  for,  if  there  should  be  collision  between 
the  principle  of  self-love  and  the  moral  principle, 
we  know  which  should  lawfully  rule.  Regarded  from 
an  elevated  point  of  view,  such  a  collision  must  be 
rare;  and,  when  the  true  relations  of  things  are  fully 
understood,  there  never  can  be  any. 

Once  more,   Bentham  asks  us  to  examine,  whether 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  73 

the  principle  which  we  suppose  to  be  acting,  in 
addition  to  the  principle  of  utility,  has,  really,  any 
power  over  human  nature,  and  does,  really,  exert  an 
influence  in  our  acts  of  will.  This,  gentlemen,  is 
a  subject  for  simple  observation.  The  question  is, 
whether  a  view  of  actions,  as  conformable  or  contrary 
to  order,  as  good  or  evil  in  themselves,  does,  or  does 
not,  exert  an  influence  over  the  mind,  which  con- 
ceives it ;  and  it  is  a  question  for  experience  to 
decide.  It  is  certain,  that,  for  men,  constantly  pre- 
occupied with  their  own  interests,  and  accustomed 
from  the  effects  of  education  and  the  influence  of 
their  occupations,  to  regard  all  acts  in  reference  to 
these  interests,  the  influence  of  the  moral  motive  will 
be  so  slightly  apparent,  that  many  might  be  disposed 
entirely  to  deny  its  action ;  and,  in  fact,  among  such 
men,  the  selfish  motive  does  triumph  over  and  im- 
pede the  action  of  the  moral  principle.  But,  with- 
out taking  into  consideration  men,  who,  on  the  con- 
trary, are  governed  habitually  by  the  moral  motive, 
I  assert,  that,  even  among  those  who  are  usually 
governed  by  motives  of  self-interest,  the  moral  motive 
does  exist,  and  that,  in  many  cases,  it  does  modify, 
and  sometimes  even  wholly  control,  the  action  of 
self-love.  We  must  have  observed  men  very  superfi- 
cially, and  gained  but  a  slight  knowledge  of  their 
nature,  not  to  perceive  how  often,  in  the  lives  of 
those  who  seem  exclusively  devoted  to  the  pursuit 
of  private  interest,  there  are  partial  sacrifices  to  con- 
siderations of  absolute  good.  Could  we  have  spread 
out  before  us  the  inward  experience  of  any  individual, 
selected  at  random,  from  those  working  and  mercan- 

VOL.    II.  G 


74  JOUFFROV. 

tile  classes,  of  whom  so  -much  evil  is  spoken,  we 
should  be  confounded  at  the  many  acts  of  probity, 
the  generous  purposes,  and  generous  deeds  too,  which 
it  would  exhibit ;  and  I  mean  purposes  and  deeds 
of  conscious  generosity,  for  I  would  not  confound 
with  truly  disinterested  acts  those  which  are  so  only 
in  appearance,  and  which  are,  in  truth,  concessions 
made  for  the  sake  of  gaining  reputation,  or  from  fear 
of  public  opinion.  But,  let  us  ask,  whence  comes 
this  very  public  opinion,  and  the  necessity  for  re- 
specting it,  if  self-love  alone  controls  the  purposes  and 
acts  of  men.  They  never  have  studied  human  nature 
with  any  degree  of  profoundness,  who  admit  the 
thought,  that  a  man  could  be  found  at  court,  in 
shops,  or  even  in  prison  cells,  over  whom  the  idea 
of  order,  and  the  considerations  of  what  is  just  and 
right,  have  never  exerted  any  influence.  Such  a 
man  never  has  existed,  and  never  could  exist;  for 
human  nature  is  uniform;  its  elements  are  all  found 
in  every  individual ;  and,  however  repressed  and 
mutilated,  there  still  is  not  one  which  does  not  retain 
some  measure  of  activity,  and  exert  some  degree 
of  influence  over  all  spirits. 

Suppose,  now,  that  it  should  be  further  asked,  why 
the  view  of  an  action,  as  conformable  to  reason,  should 
control  our  will ;  and  the  question  maybe  met  by  asking, 
in  turn,  why  should  the  prospect  of  useful  consequences 
influence  us.  Whatever  answer  may  be  given  to  this 
question,  and  however  much*  its  meaning  may  be  veiled 
in  obscure  phraseology,  still  it  must  amount  merely  to 
this  —  that  it  is  human  nature  to  be  thus  influenced.  I 
am  impelled  to  pursue  pleasure  because  I  love  it,  and 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  75 

I  love  it  because  I  am  so  constituted  ;  and  thus  it  is, 
because  I  naturally  respect  order,  that  I  am  impelled  to 
act  in  conformity  with  it;  and  it  is  because  I  am 
so  constituted  that  I  do  respect  it.  Between  my  reason 
and  order  there  is  a  like  affinity,  as  exists  between  my 
sensitive  nature  and  pleasure  ;  and  these  two  affinities 
are  both,  and  in  an  equal  degree,  facts,  which,  though 
we  may  comment  upon,  we  cannot  explain ;  for  they  are 
ultimate,  and  cannot  be  resolved  into  any  thing  more 
simple.  It  is  quite  as  inexplicable  that  pleasure  should 
act  upon  my  sensibility,  as  that  order  should  have  any 
influence  over  my  reason.  And  if  it  should  be  as- 
serted, as  it  has  been  by  many  philosophers,  that  sensi- 
bility may  influence  the  will,  but  that  reason  cannot,  I 
answer  that  this  is  untrue  in  point  of  fact ;  but  even  if 
it  was  true,  that  self-interest,  being  a  calculation  of  rea- 
son, could  no  more  exert  an  influence  on  the  will,  than 
the  idea  of  order  :  it  is  plain,  however,  that  self-interest 
does  act  so  strongly  upon  the  will,  as  to  triumph  fre- 
quently over  the  passions,  which  are  simply  sensitive 
impulses.  If,  finally,  it  should  be  objected,  that  self- 
love  is  strengthened  in  its  controlling  power  over  our 
volitions  by  the  general  desire  of  happiness,  which  is 
a  sensible  fact,  I  answer,  that  the  contemplation  of 
order  derives  equal  energy  from  that  love  of  order  and 
of  beauty,  which  is  also  a  sensible  fact.  In  whatever 
light  we  may  regard  the  subject,  we  shall  find  that  it  is 
impossible,  by  any  mode  of  reasoning,  which  has  the 
least  appearance  of  common  sense,  to  avoid  the  unde- 
niable fact,  that  the  moral  motive,  or  the  view  of  abso- 
lute good,  has  power  to  influence  the  will.  Bentham's 
objection,  therefore,  has  no  force. 


76  JOUFFROY. 

Finally,  Bentham  argues  that  interest,  being  r.n  P,X' 
ternal  motive,  may  become  a  law  ;  while  all  other  mo- 
tives, being  internal,  are  incapable  of  assuming  such  a 
character.  And  here  Bentham's  profound  psychological 
ignorance  fully  displays  itself;  his  statement  is  exactly 
the  contrary  of  truth.  Interest  is  a  personal  motive ; 
order,  an  impersonal  one  :  which,  now,  of  two  such 
motives,  should  be  called  external,  and  which  internal  — 
the  personal,  or  the  impersonal  ?  Which,  naturally, 
wears  the  authority  of  a  law  ?  What  do  I  obey  when 
I  follow  interest  ?  Myself.  What  do  I  obey  when  I 
respect  order?  Something  different  from,  and  superior 
to,  myself,  which  controls  all  other  individuals,  as  it 
does  me.  In  which  motive,  then,  I  ask  again,  do  we 
behold  the  distinctive  characteristic  of  being  external, 
and  all  other  characteristics  which  are  necessary  to  con- 
stitute a  law?  Bentham  is,  indeed,  singularly  unfortu- 
nate in  this  argument ;  his  objections  would  fully  reveal, 
if  this  were  at  all  necessary,  the  weakness  and  defects  of 
his  whole  system,  because  they  have  no  force  whatever, 
except  when  directed  against  this  system  :  the  moral 
system  they  cannot  affect,  for  they  leave  it  wholly  un- 
touched. 

I  come  now,  gentlemen,  to  the  last  argument  which 
Bentham  brings  against  the  moral  motive.  He  asserts, 
that,  if  we  recognize  this  motive,  we  shall  be  obliged, 
in  legislation,  to  proportion  all  penalties  to  the  degree 
of  disapprobation  which  we  feel  towards  certain  acts  — 
an  idea  that  never  yet  entered,  as  he  thinks,  the  head 
of  any  legislator.  To  this  I  reply,  that  the  conse- 
quence does  not  follow  from  the  principle.  Suppose 
that  I  disapprove  a  certain  act  more  strongly  than  I  do 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  77 

some  other ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  in  my  judgment  it 
appears  to  me  more  opposed  to  the  rule  of  order,  what 
follows?  Simply  this  —  that  the  agent  in  the  one  case 
will  seem  t<?  me  more  culpable,  that  is  to  say,  more 
deserving  of  punishment,  than  in  the  other.  But  be- 
cause one  merits  a  severer  punishment,  than  the  other, 
it  by  no  means  follows,  that  society  should  inflict  it, 
and  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  is  not  the  mission  of 
society  to  punish  guilt  and  reward  virtue;  this  is  the 
prerogative  of  God,  and  of  conscience  ;  in  its  reverence 
and  fear  of  God,  conscience  does  indeed  execute 
retributive  justice ;  within  ourselves  and  by  ourselves  are 
our  acts  really  punished  and  rewarded  ;  and  compared 
with  these  joys  and  torments,  which  conscience  admin- 
isters, outward  pains  and  pleasures  are  but  trifles.  It  is 
not,  then,  with  the  view  of  just  retribution,  that  society 
in  a  few,  and  but  a  very  few  cases,  inflicts  penalties  ;  but 
it  is  governed  in  so  doing  by  the  totally  different  prin- 
ciple of  a  regard  for  its  own  well-being,  and  with  a 
view  of  self-preservation  simply.  For  this  reason  it  is 
that  it  punishes  only  the  single  class  of  crimes  which 
threaten  its  own  peace ;  all  others  it  leaves  to  God ;  and 
here,  too,  we  see  the  reason  why  it  so  seldom  bestows 
rewards.  The  principle  of  all  criminal  legislation  is 
the  interest  of  society  ;  and  therefore  do  we  find,  as  we 
should  expect  to  find,  that  the  laws  neither  punish  every 
crime,  nor  do  they  proportion  penalties  to  the  degree 
of  moral  demerit  in  the  acts  which  they  condemn.  At 
the  same  time,  however,  it  must  be  said,  that  the  moral 
principle  has  never  been  wholly  lost  sight  of,  nor  for- 
gotten, in  the  construction  of  any  code  of  laws;  utility 
alone  cannot  account  for,  nor  explain,  all  the  provisions 

G2 


78 


JOUFFROY. 


of  any  system  of  legislation,  however  unreasonabla 
The  fact  is,  society,  before  proceeding  to  attach  a  pen- 
alty to  the  commission  of  acts  which  injure  its  interest, 
proportioned  to  this  injury,  asks  a  question,  never  sug- 
gested in  the  system  of  Bentham;  it  asks  whether  it 
has  the  moral  right  to  punish ;  whether,  in  producing 
pain  in  the  individual,  it  does  not  treat  him  unjustly ; 
in  other  words,  it  inquires  whether  the  individual  is 
really  culpable,  and  whether  he  is  justly  liable  to  the 
infliction  of  the  penalty.  And  it  is  only  when  satisfied 
of  the  justice  and  equity  of  its  acts  that  it  dares  to 
punish ;  it  will  do  nothing  which  retributive  justice 
does  not  authorize  and  approve,  although  acting  solely 
with  a  view  to  its  own  preservation.  Thus  the  moral 
and  the  selfish  principles  unite  in  the  construction  of 
criminal  codes,  though  in  unequal  degrees;  for  the  for- 
mer merely  restrains  and  directs  the  latter,  while  this, 
in  its  action,  gives  origin  to  the  laws.  Thus  much  it  is 
indispensable  we  should  know,  to  be  enabled  to  under 
stand  penal  legislation ;  it  is  otherwise  inexplicable. 
Let  Bentham  explain,  if  he  can,  why  the  criminal  code 
pardons  a  man  who  has  done  society  an  injury,  if  it  is 
proved  that  he  was  unconscious  of  the  wrong  ;  he  can- 
not explain  it  except  by  sophistry ;  for  the  reason 
plainly  is,  that  the  man  is  innocent;  but  the  word 
innocence  has  no  meaning  in  the  system  of  utility.  I 
might  easily  produce  yet  more  striking  examples.  But 
I  will  sum  up  what  I  have  said  with  the  remark,  that, 
unquestionably,  penal  legislation  does  not  originate  in 
the  moral  principle,  and  consequently  cannot  be  ex- 
plained by  it ;  but  it  does  not  follow  from  this  fact,  that 
the  moral  principle  has  no  existence  nor  power  of  ac- 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM. BENTHAM.  79 

tion ;  it  merely  follows,  that  penal  legislation  originates 
in  another  principle  of  our  nature,  which  I  also  recog- 
nize and  admit  —  the  principle  of  utility.  Penal  legisla- 
tion, however,  though  not  emanating  from  it,  does  still 
manifest  the  power  and  influence  of  the  moral  princi- 
ple ;  for  there  is  not  a  code  which  it  does  not  modify 
and  help  to  form.  Here  then,  once  more,  and  for  the 
last  time,  observe,  that  this  objection  of  Bentham  estab- 
lishes the  very  principle  which  he  wishes  to  destroy. 

This  is  all,  gentlemen,  that  I  have  to  say  of  the  in- 
conclusiveness  of  the  arguments  brought  by  Bentharn 
against  the  existence  of  a  principle  in  our  nature  dis- 
tinct from  that  of  utility  :  you  may  think,  perhaps,  that 
they  little  merit  so  long  a  consideration  ;  and  I  freely 
confess,  that  my  reply  would  have  been  much  more 
brief,  if  the  system  of  Bentham  had  not  been  so  cele- 
brated, and  in  some  respects  so  worthy  of  regard. 


80  JOl/FFROY. 


LECTURE    XV. 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

GENTLEMEN, 

FOR  the  purpose  of  making  you  acquainted 
with  the  selfish  mode  of  explaining  the  moral  prob- 
lem, I  have  selected  and  described  the  systems  of 
Hobbes  and  of  Bentham  —  the  two  most  celebrated 
among  the  modern  systems,  which  have  adopted  and 
professed  the  selfish  principle.  As  these  two  systems, 
and  the  observations  suggested  by  them,  have  sufficed 
to  give  you  a  clear  and  complete  idea  of  the  nature 
and  defects  of  this  theory,  I  have  limited  myself  to 
these  examples.  And  yet,  gentlemen,  you  have  seen, 
in  the  doctrines  of  Hobbes  and  of  Bentham,  only 
one  form  of  the  selfish  system,  while  sometimes  it 
appears  under  other  characters,  in  which  you  would 
scarcely  recognize  it.  I  regret,  therefore,  to  be 
compelled  by  the  plan  of  this  course,  which  is  rather 
dogmatical  than  historical,  to  put  an  end  to  my  ex- 
positions. To  supply,  however,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  necessary  void,  I  have  determined  to  devote  the 
present  lecture  to  a  further  consideration  of  the 
selfish  system.  My  object  is  twofold  :  first,  I  wish, 
in  a  more  precise  manner,  to  define  the  essential 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  81 

element  of  the  selfish  system ;  and,  secondly,  to  de- 
scribe the  various  distinctive  forms  which  it  has 
assumed.  And,  though  the  subject  is  a  large  one, 
I  will  endeavor,  by  the  definiteness  and  precision 
of  my  statements,  to  complete  the  discussion  of  it 
within  the  narrow  limits  of  a  short  lecture. 

The  peculiarity  of  the  selfish  system,  you  will 
recollect,  is,  that  it  misunderstands  and  suppresses 
two  of  the  modes  of  human  volition,  and  preserves 
only  the  third.  The  two  modes  of  volition  which 
it  destroys,  are  the  impulsive  and  the  moral.  An 
ethical  system  which  should  recognize,  that,  in  cer- 
tain cases,  we  seek  truth,  desire  power,  aid  our 
fellow-beings,  from  the  simple  love  of  truth,  of  power, 
and  of  our  fellow-beings,  without  regard  to  self,  or 
the  relations  between  these  acts  and  our  own  good, 
would  thus  prove  that  it  is  not  a  form  of  the  selfish 
system,  because  it  would  thus  deny  that  the  pursuit 
of  our  own  good  is  the  only  motive  of  choice  and 
of  action.  Again,  a  system  which  should  assert,  that, 
in  certain  circumstances,  the  idea  of  absolute  good 
acts  upon  us  directly,  and  determines  our  conduct, 
independently  of  any  anticipation  of  our  own  good, 
and  even  when  we  are  called  to  make  a  sacrifice 
of  our  own  good,  would  prove,  by  such  a  statement, 
that  it  was  not  a  form  of  the  selfish  system,  because 
it  would  deny,  equally  with  the  former,  although 
in  a  different  way,  the  fundamental  maxim  of  the 
selfish  theory.  The  selfish  system,  then,  has  this 
psychological  characteristic  —  that  it  denies  the  im- 
pulsive and  moral  modes  of  volition.  It  can  be  main- 


82  JOUFFROY. 

tained  only  by  subjecting  human  nature  to  this  two* 
fold  mutilation. 

Besides  these  two  modes  of  volition,  observation 
offers  only  one  more,  which  I  have  called  the  selfish 
mode.  And,  as  philosophy  has  no  power  of  inventing 
what  does  not  exist,  a  philosopher  who  misconceives 
and  rejects  the  two  first-named  modes,  is  necessarily 
compelled  to  elevate  the  third  into  being  the  sole 
and  universal  mode  of  human  volition  ;  for  there  is 
not  a  fourth.  But  by  what  consideration  are  we 
determined,  when  we  act  from  the  selfish  motive? 
By  the  prospect  of  our  own  personal  well-being. 
Personal  interest,  then,  recognized  and  proclaimed 
as  the  single  motive  and  sole  end  of  all  human 
action  —  this  is  the  characteristic  of  the  selfish 
system. 

The  words  personal  well-being,  however,  represent 
a  fact  in  human  nature,  which  is  complex,  and  made 
up  of  divers  elements.  It  may  readily  be  conceived, 
therefore,  that,  among  the  philosophers  who  have 
recognized  personal  well-being  as  the  end  and  motive 
of  action,  some  may  have  seen  more,  others  fewer, 
of  these  elements ;  and,  again,  that  the  elements 
observed  by  them  may  have  been  different.  And 
we  can  well  understand  that  this  system  should  have 
manifested  itself  under  various  forms,  in  proportion 
as  the  analysis  of  the  fact  upon  which  it  is  founded 
has  been  more  or  less  exact.  We  should  ascertain, 
then,  if  possible,  the  number  and  the  nature  of  these 
forms ;  and  this  is  precisely  what  I  wish  now  to  do. 

The   method   to   be  followed   in  this   inquiry  is  at 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  83 

once  simple  and  sure.  Philosophy  may  omit,  though 
it  cannot  create;  it  may  overlook,  though  it  cannot 
invent.  If  philosophers  of  the  selfish  school  have 
differed,  then,  it  is  owing  only  to  their  having  found 
more  or  fewer  elements  in  the  common  fact,  which 
they  have  all  considered  to  be  the  only  mode  of  human 
volition.  To  discover  all  the  diverse  forms,  therefore, 
of  which  the  selfish  system  is  susceptible,  it  is  only 
necessary  that  we  should  determine  in  how  many 
different  ways  this  fact  may  be  mutilated ;  and  to  this 
end  we  must  analyze  and  disengage  its  several  ele- 
ments. Let  us  review,  then,  gentlemen,  our  analysis 
of  this  fact ;  let  us  count  its  several  elements ;  and 
thus  shall  we  arrive  infallibly  at  the  end  we  seek. 

Our  nature  is,  by  its  organization,  fitted  for  certain 
ends,  and  manifests  this  fitness  by  various  instinctive 
tendencies.  At  first,  it  sees  nothing  beyond  these 
ends,  to  which  it  feels  itself  impelled ;  but,  when 
reason  is  developed,  the  truth,  before  hidden,  is  re- 
vealed ;  for  reason  comprehends  that  these  ends  are 
not  our  real  good,  but  only  means  to  produce  it,  and 
that  our  good  itself  is  the  satisfaction  of  our  instincts, 
and  our  greatest  good  the  fullest  satisfaction  of  these 
instincts.  Thus,  to  take  a  common  example,  the 
appetite  of  hunger  impels  us  instinctively  to  seek 
food,  which  food,  we  suppose,  in  the  first  instance, 
to  be  the  final  end  of  the  appetite  itself;  but,  when 
we  become  rational,  we  comprehend  that  the  true 
end  to  which  the  appetite  tends  is  the  feeling  of 
satisfied  hunger,  and  that  food  is  only  the  means 
of  producing  this  satisfaction.  Henceforth,  we  con- 
sider this  gratification  our  good,  and  cease  to  look 


84  JOUFFROY. 

for    it   in   the    objects   which    give    this   gratification 
The   same   may  be   said  of   all    our   other   impulses 
and  thus  we    ascend  by  degrees  to  the  idea  that  our 
good    is   the   satisfaction   of    our    natural    tendencies, 
our  highest  good  their  fullest  satisfaction. 

But  our  nature  is  sensitive,  and  therefore  no  passion 
can  be  gratified  without  an  agreeable  sensation.  This 
agreeable  sensation  is  quite  distinct,  however,  from 
the  gratification.  I  am  hungry;  I  eat,  and  expe- 
rience a  pleasant  feeling ;  and  why  ?  because  my 
appetite  is  satisfied.  The  pleasure,  then,  is  the  effect 
of  the  satisfaction,  and  is  not  that  satisfaction  itself: 
even  if  pleasure  was  not  felt,  then,  the  appetite  would 
still  be  satisfied,  and  the  good  of  our  nature  accom- 
plished. Pleasure  is  the  sensible  effect  of  the  good, 
but  is  not  the  good  itself:  the  two  ideas  are  distinct; 
the  two  phenomena  are  different. 

Now,  unfortunately,  these  two  phenomena  are  in- 
separably united,  and  therefore  the  ideas  are  united 
also ;  unfortunately,  also,  one  of  these  facts,  being 
a  sensible  one,  —  that  is,  pleasure,  —  is  easily  recog- 
nized ;  whereas  the  other  —  that  is,  good  —  is  less 
apparent,  because  contained  within  the  sensible  fact. 
The  human  mind  easily,  therefore,  confounds  these 
separate  facts,  and,  in  the  confusion,  it  is  the  least 
apparent  which  is  overlooked  and  forgotten ;  hence 
the  mistaking  of  pleasure  for  good,  and  the  identifying 
of  these  two  ideas  in  the  single  one  of  happiness. 

In  what  I  have  now  said,  I  have  explained  some 
of  the  mutilations  of  the  idea  of  personal  good,  and 
some  of  the  various  forms  which  the  selfish  system 
has  assumed.  Our  analysis  has  exhibited  three  facts 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  85 

entirely  distinct ;  first,  the  satisfaction  of  our  nature, 
which  is  our  good  ;  secondly,  the  pleasure  accompany- 
ing this  satisfaction,  which  is  happiness;  thirdly,  the 
objects  fitted  to  produce  the  satisfaction  that  results  in 
pleasure :  these  are  useful.  A  selfish  system,  to  be 
true  and  complete,  must  neither  overlook  these  several 
facts,  nor  alter  their  nature,  nor  modify  their  functions, 
nor  diminish  the  importance  of  any  one.  And  now 
you  can  imagine  how  many  ways  there  are  of  failing 
to  fulfil  these  conditions,  and  of  giving,  in  conse- 
quence, an  imperfect  representation  of  the  selfish 
system.  I  have  time  to  indicate  only  the  most  im- 
portant and  the  most  common. 

The  one  most  frequently  met  with  is  that  which 
confounds  the  fundamental  and  secondary  elements, 
and  defines  good  to  be  pleasure.  This  form  of  the 
selfish  system  may  be  called  the  sensual  form.  It 
is  self-love  deprived  of  its  essential  principle  —  the 
effect  of  personal  good  mistaken  for  the  good  itself; 
in  a  word,  it  is  a  monstrous  though  natural  mutilation 
of  the  fundamental  fact.  The  practical  effect  of  this 
doctrine  is  not  only  the  effeminacy  which  results 
from  this  substitution,  but,  yet  more,  the  various 
mistakes  resulting  from  this  substitution,  which  lead 
the  individual  astray  in  the  pursuit  of  his  own  good. 
Nothing  is  more  common  than  to  see  the  pursuit 
of  pleasure  terminate  in  results  the  most  disastrous 
possible  to  self-interest ;  and,  notwithstanding  the 
close  connection  which  unites  pleasure  with  good, 
it  is  easy  to  perceive  the  cause  of  such  an  unfortunate 
result. 

Pleasure    is   a  fact    so    apparent,  that  it  has   never 

VOL.   II.  H 


86  JOUFFROY. 

been  overlooked  by  philosophers  of  the  selfish  school ; 
but  there  are  few  only  who  have  had  the  good  sense 
to  perceive  that  pleasure  was  not  itself  our  good, 
but  only  an  accessory  element  of  it ;  and  who  have 
recognized,  as  the  true  end  for  self-love,  the  satis- 
faction of  the  different  impulses  and  faculties  of  our 
nature.  From  4his  latter  view  has  resulted  a  form 
of  the  selfish  system,  at  once  more  austere  and  more 
nearly  true,  which  may  well  deserve  to  be  called 
its  rational  form.  In  more  than  one  instance,  the 
selfish  system,  thus  conceived,  has  defined  the  good 
of  the  individual  to  be  that  which  is  conformable  to 
his  nature  —  a  definition  which  elevates  self-love  almost 
to  the  rank  of  morality,  and  which,  as  it  is  better 
calculated  than  any  other  to  make  the  principle  an 
intelligent  one,  has  produced  fewer  evils  in  practice. 
This  form  of  the  selfish  system,  by  its  superior  truth, 
has  resulted  in  a  comparatively  elevated  theory,  and 
in  an  enlightened  and  pure  rule  for  life.  Among 
individuals  of  weak  minds,  however,  its  influence  is 
to  create  all  the  miseries  of  excessive  prudence,  and 
all  the  meannesses  of  a  close  calculation  of  interest ; 
while  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  on  the  other  hand, 
leaves  to  its  followers  greater  liberality  of  ideas,  less 
hardness  and  dryness  of  feeling,  and  more  freedom 
in  their  mode  of  action. 

I  know  no  philosopher,  who  has  committed  the 
error  of  mistaking  the  means  of  happiness  or  good 
for  the  happiness  and  good  itself,  and  who  has  founded 
upon  such  an  error  a  system ;  but  nothing  is  more 
common  among  men  at  large,  and,  therefore,  this, 
too,  should  be  classed  among  the  different  forms  of 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  87 

the  selfish  system.  It  is  the  delusion  of  the  mul- 
titude, who  mistake  wealth,  lands,  houses,  furniture, 
for  the  end  really  pursued  in  acquiring  them,  and 
who,  instead  of  using  them  for  this  end,  turn  all  the 
energies  of  their  minds  to  simple  accumulation.  The 
error  is  so  truly  absurd,  common  though  it  is,  and 
its  practical  effects  are  so  obvious,  that  it  would  not 
be  worth  our  while  to  describe  them. 

Such  are  the  three  principal  forms  which  the 
selfish  system  may  assume  in  the  minds  of  those 
whose  views  are  narrow  and  incomplete,  and  who 
imperfectly  understand  the  three  facts,  which  I  have 
exhibited  to  you  by  analysis.  Each  of  these  forms 
is  susceptible  of  various  modifications,  according  as 
the  leading  fact  is  differently  comprehended,  and  as 
the  influence  of  other  elements  enters  more  or  less 
into  the  system. 

This,  however,  is  not  the  only  source  of  diverse 
forms  of  the  selfish  system ;  there  is  another,  equally 
productive  of  variety,  which  I  will  now  proceed  to 
describe. 

Our  good,  gentlemen,  is  composed,  as  you  will 
observe,  of  several  particular  goods,  and  so  also  is  our 
pleasure ;  the  satisfaction  of  our  nature  thus  resolves  it- 
self into  the  satisfaction  of  its  various  impulses  and  fac- 
ulties ;  and  to  the  gratification  of  each  of  these  belongs 
a  particular  pleasure.  Now,  in  his  estimate  of  the 
elements  of  good  or  of  happiness,  a  philosopher  may 
easily  be  so  preoccupied  with  the  idea  of  a  certain 
class  of  these,  as  to  misunderstand  or  wholly  neglect 
all  others ;  he  may  even  go  further,  and  not  only 
misunderstand  or  neglect  them,  but  systematically 


88  JOUFFROY. 

condemn  them  as  injurious  to  our  greatest  good  and 
happiness,  and  never  describe  them,  like  other  pleas- 
ures, as  something  to  be  sought.  You  see,  at  once, 
to  what  various  mutilations  of  good  and  of  happiness, 
and,  consequently,  to  what  new  and  different  forms 
of  selfishness,  such  views  might  lead ;  I  will  limit 
myself  to  the  exhibition  of  but  a  few. 

And  first,  gentlemen,  the  instincts  of  our  nature 
are  of  two  kinds ;  first,  those  which  can  find  their 
satisfaction  only  in  the  good  of  other  beings,  and 
which  are,  therefore,  called  social  or  benevolent ;  and, 
secondly,  those  which  do  not  require  such  a  condition 
for  their  gratification,  and  are  commonly  denominated 
personal  or  selfish.  Friendship,  love,  and  all  sympa- 
thetic impulses,  are  embraced  in  the  former  class; 
curiosity,  the  desire  of  power,  and  a  number  of  other 
instincts,  in  the  latter.  It  is  unnecessary  to  observe, 
that,  essentially,  impulses  of  the  first  class  are  no 
more  disinterested  than  those  of  the  second,  nor 
impulses  of  the  second  more  interested  than  those 
of  the  first;  such  epithets  have  no  meaning,  when 
used  in  reference  to  instincts ;  they  apply  to  self-love 
and  the  moral  motive  only ;  all  our  tendencies  crave 
gratification  equally,  only  in  one  case  the  good  of 
our  fellow-beings,  and  in  the  other  our  own  good. 
is  the  means  by  which  they  are  satisfied. 

These  two  classes  of  impulses  have  given  rise  to 
forms  of  the  selfish  system,  which  differ  from  each 
other  by  very  marked  characteristics.  Some  philoso- 
phers, either  believing  that  the  gratification  of  the 
benevolent  tendencies  is  the  most  productive  of  good 
and  of  happiness,  or  thinking  that  thus  they  might 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  Oil 

redeem  self-love  from  the  charge  of  being  a  personal 
and  unsocial  principle,  have  sought  for  good  and 
happiness,  in  the  exercise  of  the  social  affections, 
and  have  made  this  their  fundamental  maxim  ;  hence 
a  class  of  selfish  systems,  which  have  defined  happi- 
ness to  consist  in  the  development  and  satisfaction 
of  the  benevolent  instincts  of  our  nature.  In  their 
practical  results,  these  systems  approach  so  nearly 
to  the  moral  systems,  that  they  have  often,  on  that 
account,  been  classed  among  them ;  but  this  is  an 
illusion  which  the  least  reflection  will  remove.  The 
end  proposed  to  man  in  these  systems  is  always  his 
own  private  good  and  pleasure ;  the  good  and  pleasure 
of  others  is  only  a  means  to  this ;  but  the  moral 
system  proposes  no  such  end ;  it  neither  sets  before 
man,  as  his  end,  his  private  good,  nor  the  good  of 
others,  but  only  absolute  good,  or,  in  other  words, 
that  which  is  conformed  to  the  nature  of  things ; 
this  is  a  higher  end  than  any  other,  recommending 
neither  personal  good  nor  the  good  of  our  fellow- 
beings  exclusively,  but  approving  both  in  so  far 
as  they  are  in  conformity  with  order,  and  no  further. 
Between  the  practical  results,  too,  of  the  moral 
system,  and  of  these  forms  of  the  selfish  system,  there 
are  most  noticeable  differences,  which  we  may  see 
fully  illustrated  in  the  philanthrophy  of  the  day.  I 
allude  particularly  to  a  heartlessness  of  charity  on  the 
one  side,  and  an  imprudence  in  bestowing  benefits 
on  the  other,  which  are  equally  to  be  condemned ; 
the  first,  for  the  selfishness  of  its  motive  ;  the  second, 
for  the  blindness  of  its  acts :  the  benevolence  of 
impulse  escapes,  at  least  from  the  first  of  these 


90  JOUFFROY. 

defects;  though  only  that  benevolence  which  finds 
its  inspiration  and  its  direction  in  the  love  of  order, 
can  avoid  them  both. 

To  this  class  of  selfish  systems  a  third  may  be  added, 
which  merits  particular  attention  :  it  has  originated 
with  philosophers,  who,  perceiving  that,  of  all  our 
agreeable  emotions,  that  which  follows  the  perform- 
ance of  duty  is  the  most  delightful,  while  at  the 
same  time  it  is  more  under  our  own  and  less  under 
others'  control  than  any  other  pleasure,  have  thought 
that  its  pursuit  is  the  best  means  of  securing  our 
own  happiness,  and  that  we  should  sacrifice  all  others 
to  obtain  it.  More  than  once  it  has  occurred,  that, 
in  eras  when  selfish  systems  have  prevailed,  such  a 
system  has  gained  for  its  author  the  reputation 
of  being  the  restorer  and  avenger  of  morality;  and 
yet,  gentlemen,  you  must  see,  that,  in  such  a  system, 
pleasure  is  still  the  end,  and  virtue  only  a  means, 
and,  therefore,  that  it  is  truly  quite  as  selfish  as  the 
systems  of  Hobbes  or  of  Epicurus.  It  is,  however, 
infinitely  more  absurd ;  for  virtue,  transformed  into 
a  means  of  pleasure,  ceases  to  be  virtue,  and  gives 
no  longer  pleasure ;  so  that  the  system  destroys  the 
very  end  which  it  recommends  for  our  pursuit.  I 
should  say  the  same  of  the  doctrine  which  exhorts 
us  to  practise  virtue  as  a  means  of  gaining  the  re- 
wards of  another  life :  this  form  of  the  selfish  system 
implies  the  same  error,  and  differs  from  the  former 
only  by  being  more  thoroughly  interested.  The  par- 
tisans of  tha  former  might  well  be  called  tke  Epicure- 
ans, and  those  of  the  latter,  the  Benthamites  of  virtue. 

With    these    two    systems,   which    make   virtue   a 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  91 

rneaas  of  securing  pleasure,  we  might  class  another, 
which  jegards  virtue  as  delicate,  noble,  and  beautiful, 
while  it  looks  upon  selfishness  as  vulgar,  gross,  and 
ugly,  and  prefers  the  first  from  motives  of  taste. 
This  system  might  be  classed,  either  among  those 
which  we  are  now  considering,  or  among  those  which, 
seeking  the  principle  of  morality,  in  a  conception 
of  the  reason,  misunderstand  our  nature,  and  overlook 
the  truth.  It  may  be  considered  as  belonging  to  the 
latter,  when  it  looks  chiefly  at  the  beauty  of  virtue, 
and  to  the  class  of  selfish  systems,'  when  it  is  princi- 
pally occupied  with  thoughts  of  the  gratification  of 
taste  which  virtue  gives,  and  recommends  virtue  as 
the  means  of  procuring  it.  This  system  may  be 
considered  the  highest  refinement  of  selfishness ;  and 
it  is  adopted,  though  quite  unconsciously,  by  a  multi- 
tude of  well-born  and  highly-cultivated  people,  whose 
conduct  is  marked  by  acts  of  disinterestedness,  not 
so  much  from  elevation  of  soul  as  from  delicacy 
of  taste,  and  who  dislike  selfishness  as  they  do  bad 
odors,  only  because  it  affects  them  disagreeably  ;  they 
are  as  selfish  in  their  repugnance  as  the  selfishness 
which  displeases  them ;  and  vice  can  seduce  them, 
if  it  will  but  cover  its  deformities  with  perfumed 
flowers. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  some  of  the  selfish  systems, 
produced  by  preferring  pleasures  which  come  from 
the  prospect  of  another's  good,  to  those  which  are 
called  peculiarly  personal.  Opposed  to  these  systems 
are  others,  in  which  a  preference  of  a  contrary  char- 
acter appears  to  prevail  ;  I  say  appears,  because  it 
is  only  rarely  that  such  a  preference  can  be  expressed 


92  JOUFFROY. 

in  any  distinct  and  definite  form  of  language.  The 
principal  obstacle  to  the  selfish  system  being  found 
in  that  moral  faith  of  every  human  being  which 
utterly  contradicts  it,  attempts  to  reconcile  them  must 
be  frequent ;  hence  numerous  systems  which  have 
endeavored  to  effect  this  reconciliation  by  presenting 
the  pursuit  of  pleasure  under  its  most  agreeable  and 
social  aspects.  But  as  no  such  reason  exists  for 
mutilating  pleasure  in  an  opposite  way,  while  all 
considerations,  on  the  contrary,  direct  the  attention 
of  philosophers  to  its  social  character,  the  selfish 
tendency  of  this  element  of  our  nature  has  been 
seldom  exaggerated.  The  systems,  therefore,  to  which 
I  now  allude,  are  marked,  not  so  much  by  a  sys- 
tematic as  by  an  implied  preference  of  the  purely 
personal  elements  of  self-love;  and  in  this  they  are 
distinguished  broadly  from  others  which  have  pro- 
fessed such  a  preference  boldly  and  openly.  The 
system  of  Hobbes,  for  example,  is  an  exceedingly 
gross  form  of  the  selfish  system,  so  nakedly  and  unre- 
servedly does  it  expose  its  purely  personal  tendencies ; 
and  that  of  Lametrie  is  yet  more  remarkable ;  indeed, 
it  may  be  said  that,  in  this  system,  the  mutilation 
of  the  element  of  pleasure  is  avo\ved ;  so  exclusively 
are  the  most  selfish  tendencies  of  our  nature  regarded 
as  the  only  source  of  happiness.  Selfishness,  under 
this  form,  becomes  harmless;  for  it  drops  its  mask, 
and  displays  its  hideous  features.  And  it  is  when 
it  assumes,  this  form,  too,  that  it  loses  all  pretension? 
to  be  considered  philosophical,  as  I  have  already 
explained.  Practically,  however,  this  form  of  the 
selfish  system  is  nowise  rare;  it  is,  of  course,  utterly 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  93 

hostile  to  society,  and  against  it  are  the  laws  prin- 
cipally directed. 

Such  are  the  chief  varieties  of  the  systems  of  selfish- 
ness. Narrow  as  is  its  principle,  you  have  seen  that 
it  is  still  constantly  met  with,  both  in  philosophy  and 
in  social  life.  This  mutilation  of  human  nature  has 
itself  been  mutilated  in  various  ways ;  so  complex 
are  the  volitions  originating  in  the  influence  of  this 
element.  You  have  seen  that  it  is  to  various  modes 
of  imperfectly  analyzing  the  phenomenon  of  self-love 
that  the  different  forms  of  the  selfish  doctrine  are  to 
be  referred.  The  phenomenon  of  self-love,  indeed, 
presents  two  kinds  of  complexity  —  good  $\  pleasure, 
as  the  consequence,^  and  utility,  as  the  means,  consti- 
tuting the  first,  and  the  different  sorts  of  good  and 
pleasure  of  which  we  are  capable,  the  second.  If 
you  examine  this  twofold  complexity,  you  will  find 
each  represented  by  a  peculiar  form  of  the  selfish 
doctrine.  Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  conclusions  to 
which  it  has  been  my  wish  to  lead  your  minds  in 
the  present  lecture. 

But  I  should  leave  my  work  imperfectly  done,  if  I 
should  neglect  to  remind  you  of  the  two  different 
attempts  which  have  been  made  to  deduce  from  the 
principle  of  self-interest  the  rule  of  general  interest  — 
attempts  which  have  produced  two  new  varieties  of  the 
selfish  system,  to  be  added  to  those  which  have  arisen 
directly  from  the  analysis  of  the  fundamental  fact ; 
and  these  exhaust  the  possible  forms  under  which  the 
system  can  be  presented. 

These  two  new  varieties  of  the  selfish  system  agree 
in  pretending  that  the  substitution  of  the  rule  of 


94  JOUFFROY. 

general  interest  for  that  of  private  interest  is  leguimate. 
They  differ  from  each  other  in  this  —  that  the  one 
finds  the  proof  of  the  'legitimacy  of  this  substitution 
in  the  phenomenon  of  sympathy,  the  other  in  the 
necessity  of  our  advancing  the  interests  of  others 
as  a  means  of  securing  their  aid. 

In  my  refutation  of  Bentham,  I  have  sufficiently 
explained  both  the  nature  and  the  fruitlessness  of  such 
attempts ;  I  am  not  bound,  therefore,  in  the  present 
lecture,  to  go  over  that  ground  again,  and  I  limit 
myself  to  saying,  that  the  selfish  system  has  very 
frequently  presented  itself  under  this  disguise,  and 
that  its  chief  victories  have  thus  been  gained ;  and, 
if  the  follower  of  this  system  would  but  live  up  to 
his  rule,  undoubtedly  it  is  the  form  which,  of  all 
others,  .would  practically  approach  most  nearly  to 
morality.  Faithful  to  this  rule,  however,  no  one 
can  be ;  for,  the  general  good  being  considered  merely 
as  the  means  of  securing  private  good,  every  indi- 
vidual feels  that  he  has  continually  the  right  to  violate 
it,  if  he  thinks  that  he  can,  by  so  doing,  advance 
his  interests.  Practically,  then,  we  do  not  find  that 
this  form  offers  any  surer  guaranties  of  right  conduct 
than  other  forms;  although  it  has  always  one  good 
effect  —  that,  by  leading  men  to  consider  the  various 
relations  by  which  they  are  united  to  their  fellow- 
beings,  it  induces  them  to  think  of  them  oftener  and 
respect  them  more. 

I  have  now  finished  my  notice  of  the  various  forms 
of  the  selfish  system ;  and  it  only  remains  to  be 
remarked,  that,  under  all,  its  essential  character  and 
radical  defects  continue  unchanged.  Whether  the 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  95 

individual  pursues  the  gratification  of  impulse,  or  the 
accompanying  pleasure,  or  the  different  objects  fitted 
to  produce  them;  whether  he  prefers,- as  most  fitted 
to  promote  his  highest  good,  the  satisfaction  of  certain 
tendencies  and  pleasures ;  or,  finally,  whether,  for 
the  attainment  of  his  end,  he  adopts  the  circuitous 
means  of  general  interest,  or  the  direct  pursuit  of  his 
own,  —  it  is  of  little  consequence  to  determine:  he 
is  impelled  to  act,  in  each  and  every  instance,  by 
calculations  of  what  is  best  for  himself.  His  motive 
is  always  at  once  personal  and  reflective  —  in  other 
words,  interested  ;  it  is  essentially  distinct,  therefore, 
from  the  motive  of  impulse,  which  is  personal  without 
being  reflective ;  and  from  the  moral  motive,  which 
is  reflective,  but  impersonal  —  or,  in  other  words, 
disinterested.  Self-love  remains  essentially  the  same, 
therefore,  under  all  its  forms,  and  impresses  a  similar 
character  upon  the  various  schemes  of  conduct  to 
which  it  leads.  One  selfish  rule  for  life  is  preferable 
to  another,  only  because  it  may  approach  more  nearly 
the  rule  given  by  the  moral  motive.  But  even  should 
these,  in  any  case,  appear  to  be  identical,  the  identity 
would  be  confined  to  external  acts ;  and,  though 
doing  precisely  what  the  moral  and  impersonal  motive 
would  command,  the  individual's  conduct  would  be 
as  far  removed  from  virtue  as  if  his  action  were 
directly  opposite. 

Finally,  it  should  be  mentioned,  as  a  characteristic 
of  the  selfish  system,  which  is  never  lost,  that  it 
suggests,  and  can  suggest,  no  idea  of  obligation ; 
and  this  characteristic  modifies  the  influence  of  every 
impulse  which  it  gives.  As  the  motive  is  always 


96  JOUFFROY. 

the  good,  the  pleasure,  or  the  interest  of  the  indi- 
vidual, this  motive  must  have  itself  a  character  of 
obligation,  before  it  can  communicate  it ;  but  such 
a  character  it  neither  has  nor  can  have.  In  vain 
do  you  say  that  an  act  will  be  agreeable  or  advan- 
tageous; I  do  not,  on  that  account,  feel  myself  bound 
to  do  it.  To  tell  me  that  I  ought  to  do  something 
because  it  is  good  for  me,  is  a  deduction  which  I 
cannot  feel  to  be  just,  so  long  as  I  distinctly  recognize 
in  my  reason  that  it  is  always  what  is  absolutely  good 
which  should  be  done.  It  must  be  proved,  then,  that 
what  is  a  good  for  me  is  good  in  itself,  before  I  can 
feel  a  sense  of  obligation  to  secure  my  own  good ; 
and  this  is  but  saying,  in  other  words,  that  the  motive 
of  self-interest  is  not  a  legitimate  one  in  itself,  but 
needs  the  sanction  of  the  moral  motive  to  give  it 
this  character  of  legitimacy. 

Yet  more;  it  might  be  said  that  the  selfish  motive 
does  not  even  offer  a  reason  for  acting.  A  reason 
is  an  evident  truth,  throwing  light  upon  and  explaining 
the  particular  question  to  which  it  is  applied.  Shall 
I,  or  shall  I  not,  act  ?  This  is  the  practical  question 
to  be  settled.  Self-love  answers  —  Act,  because  your 
nature  demands  it.  That  this  maybe  a  reason,  it  is 
necessary  that  it  should  express  an  evident  truth ;  but 
so  far  is  this  from  being  evident,  that  reason  at  once 
demands  its  proof.  If  I  am  satisfied  with  the  reply 
of  self-love,  I  obey  not  a  reason,  but  a  natural  desire. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  then,  the  follower  of  interest 
acts  not  from  reason,  but  from  passion.  He  does, 
indeed,  reason  as  to  the  best  means  of  gratifying 
this  passion,  and  so  far,  it  may  be  said,  his  conduct 


THE    SELFISH    SYSTEM.  97 

results  from  reasoning;  but  it  is  to  an  impulse  of 
passion,  and  not  to  a  conviction  of  reason,  that  he 
yields  as  a  motive ;  and,  therefore,  although  he  reasons 
about  his  acts,  yet  cannot  he  be  called  reasonable  in 
performing  them.  We  act  reasonably  only  when  we 
act  morally  ;  because  then  alone  do  we  obey  a  reason 
or  an  evident  truth,  which  is  this  —  It  is  right  that 
absolute  good  should  be  always  done. 

If  we  complete  our  analysis,  we  shall  find  that 
to  say  to  any  one,  Do  this,  because  it  is  for  your 
good,  is  to  say,  This  is  good,  because  it  is  good 
for  you  —  a  proposition  which  is  very  far  from  be- 
ing self-evident.  Not  only,  then,  are  the  suggestions 
of  self-love  not  obligatory,  but  they  imply  a  proposition 
which  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  an  evident  truth,  until 
individual  and  absolute  good  are  proved  to  be  identical. 
So  far,  therefore,  from  proving  the  obligation  of  certain 
acts,  self-love  does  not  even  supply  a  reason  for  their 
performance.  Thus,  in  the  attempt  to  explain  arid 
justify  the  selfish  principle,  do  we  escape  from  its 
control;  and  in  the  very  reason  which  we  find  for 
yielding  to  it  do  we  form  a  conception  of  the  moral 
motive. 

VOL.    II. 


98 


JOUFFllOY. 


LECTURE    XVI. 

HE  SENTIMENTAL  SYSTEM.  — SMITH. 

GENTLEMEN, 

I  HAVE  endeavored,  in  preceding  lectures, 
to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  systems  which  find  in  the 
love  of  self  the  principle  of  morality.  They  form 
the  first  class  of  systems  which,  in  their  examination 
of  human  nature,  either  overlook  or  mutilate  the 
moral  principle.  To-day  I  pass  to  another  class. 

The  radical  error  of  the  systems  now  to  be  dis- 
cussed is  a  far  less  important  one  than  that  of  the 
systems  already  considered.  These  latter,  by  placing 
the  principle  of  morality  in  the  pursuit  of  personal 
gooa,  do  nothing  less,  in  fact,  than  deny  the  existence, 
in  human  nature,  of  any  disinterested  motive  —  than 
which  a  grosser  error  cannot  be  committed.  The 
systems  which  now  come  under  our  attention  are 
guilty  of  no  such  wrong  as  this :  they  admit  the 
existence  of  a  motive  distinct  from  self-love ;  they 
recognize  the  fact  of  disinterestedness,  and  find  in 
this  the  principle  of  morality :  their  mistake  is, 
that  they  overlook  the  real  fact,  or  misapprehend  its 
nature.  To-day,  then,  gentlemen,  we  are  to  enter 
upon  the  examination  of  systems  which  teach  that 


THE  SENTIMENTAL  SYSTEM. SMITH.       99 

man  does  often  act  disinterestedly,  but  which,  iu 
their  attempt  to  ascend  to  the  source  of  this  dis- 
interestedness, miss  the  way,  or  see  it  but  dimly,  and 
thus  misrepresent  the  true  principle  of  morality. 

Disinterested  systems,  if  I  may  call  them  so,  have 
originated  in  modern  times,  as  they  have  in  all  the 
great  philosophical  eras  with  which  history  makes 
us  acquainted.  When  the  spirit  of  philosophy  first 
awakes  in  any  country,  no  inquiry  is  made  as  to 
the  principle  of  morality ;  for  the  human  mind  meets 
with  questions  of  more  pressing  importance,  which 
it  is  long  occupied  in  solving.  But  the  time  comes, 
when  philosophy  finally  begins  to  discuss  the  moral 
problem,  and  seeks  to  learn  the  destiny  of  man,  and, 
from  a  knowledge  of  it,  to  deduce  rules  for  conduct; 
and,  in  all  cases,  the  first  solution  adopted  is  the 
doctrine  of  happiness,  or  the  selfish  system.  The 
reason  for  this  is  plain.  Good  sense  suggests  that, 
in  our  attempt  to  solve  the  moral  problem,  we  should 
look  for  the  determining  motives  of  human  volitions; 
and,  among  these  motives,  none  is  so  apparent  at 
once  to  the  eye  of  the  observer  as  the  love  of  pleasure 
and  the  dread  of  pain.  In  every  philosophical  move- 
ment, therefore,  when  the  human  mind  has  commenced 
its  search  for  the  principle  of  conduct  and  the  motive 
of  action,  has  the  selfish  system  first  appeared.  In 
most  cases,  the  doctrine  has  been  taught  without  a 
perception  of  its  consequences ;  but,  whether  its 
discoverer  and  promulgator  has  recognized  them  or 
not,  sooner  or  later  they  practically  display  themselves; 
for  never  in  the  world  can  a  principle  be  introduced 
without  a  development  of  its  natural  fruits :  in  the 


100  JOUFFROY. 

coarse  of  events,  earlier  or  later,  are  they  all  neces- 
sarily revealed.  Now,  the  consequences  of  self-love 
are  odious  in  their  effects  on  human  nature ;  and 
they  are  so,  not  only  because  they  mutilate  it,  but 
because  it  is  the  noblest  part  which  they  reject. 
Universal  sympathy  accompanies  disinterested  purposes 
and  acts,  while  antipathy  is  oftener  felt  for  interested 
ones.  The  true  consequences  of  self-love  cannot  be 
seen,  then,  without  exciting  against  them  a  general 
indignation  and  disgust,  in  time  extended  to  the  system 
in  which  they  originate.  Observe,  the  doctrine  con- 
tained in  the  fundamental  rnaxim,  that  the  pursuit 
of  happiness  is  the  end  of  man,  has  nothing  in  itself 
which  shocks  our  minds ;  on  the  contrary,  we  may 
say,  that,  understood  in  a  large  and  comprehensive 
manner,  it  is  true ;  so  that  the  system,  regarded 
merely  in  its  principle  and  its  superficial  influence, 
has  nothing  to  excite  alarm,  and  has  often  been 
received  by  the  noblest  minds  without  a  scruple  or 
a  doubt ;  as,  for  instance,  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
it  was  adopted  by  Leibnitz  on  the  one  side,  and  by 
Bossuet  on  the  other,  though  nothing  could  seem 
more  opposed  than  the  doctrine  of  interest  to  the 
Christian  spirit  of  the  latter,  and  to  the  gigantic  and 
severe  intellect  of  the  first.  As  soon,  however,  as  a 
more  thorough  analysis  has  brought  to  light  the  strict 
and  necessary  consequences  of  the  system,  and  re- 
vealed its  real  tendencies,  conscience  becomes  alarmed, 
good  sense  raises  its  voice,  and  a  philosophical  reaction 
follows,  the  first  object  of  which  is  to  prove  that  there 
is  something  disinterested  in  the  human  soul,  and 
consequently  another  motive  than  the  pursuit  of  selfish 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  101 

good.  Then  follows  a  more  philosophical  and  rigor- 
ous analysis  of  the  different  motives  which  influence 
the  will  —  an  analysis  whose  object  is  to  find  the 
sources  of  disinterestedness  in  human  nature,  and 
in  them  the  spring  of  all  virtue  and  devotion.  To 
discover  this  disinterested  principle  demands  a  far 
more  attentive  study  of  psychological  facts  than  to 
see  the  principle  of  self-interest.  For  this  plays  on 
the  surface,  if  I  may  say  so,  while  the  operation 
of  the  other  is  profound ;  and  it  may  therefore  with 
truth  be  said,  that  the  philosophy  of  self-love  is  the 
philosophy  of  children.  To  find  this  solution  of  the 
moral  problem  demands  no  reflection,  no  study  of 
man.  But  the  principle  of  disinterestedness  is  appre- 
hended with  more  difficulty  —  so  deep  in  our  inmost 
nature  does  it  act ;  so  that,  in  the  reaction  to  which 
I  have  alluded,  many  errors  and  half-truths  are  ad- 
vanced, before  the  true  principle  of  morality  is  con- 
ceived with  precision.  Therefore  it  is,  that,  in  modern 
times,  we  have  seen  such  a  multitude  of  systems, 
which  —  all  proclaiming  the  fact  of  disinterestedness, 
and  pretending  to  indicate  its  real  source  —  have 
given,  nevertheless,  such  different  explanations.  A 
like  diversity  characterized,  in  ancient  times,  the 
disinterested  school,  although  it  was  then  more  limited, 
because  human  opinions,  in  those  ages,  were  moulded 
into  simpler  forms  than  in  modern  days,  and  because, 
as  analysis  extends  further  to  shades  of  ideas,  and 
multiplied  systems  are  invented  to  represent  them, 
these  systems  blend  and  assimilate  more  together, 
and  are  less  marked  by  distinctive  traits. 

The  systems  which  profess  to  base  morality  upon 


102 


JOUFFROY. 


the  foundation  of  a  disinterested  principle,  are  of  two 
kinds.  The  distinction  of  the  first  is,  that  it  finds 
the  origin  of  disinterested  volitions  in  an  intellectual 
perception  of  moral  good  and  evil.  In  other  words, 
the  first  class  of  these  systems  explains  the  existence 
of  our  ideas  of  moral  good  and  evil  by  an  operation 
of  reason,  which  judges  acts  to  be  good  and  bad  in 
themselves,  and  absolutely.  According  to  this  doc- 
trine, therefore,  the  perception  of  moral  good  and 
evil  is  a  rational  fact  —  a  phenomenon,  not  of  the 
sensibility,  but  of  the  intellect. 

The  second  class  of  disinterested  systems,  on  the 
contrary,  explains  the  distinction  between  good  and 
evil  in  the  soul,  and  the  disinterested  volitions  thence 
resulting,  by  facts  which  belong  to  the  sensibility, 
and  not  to  the  reason  ;  so  that  disinterestedness,  ac- 
cording to  this  doctrine,  is  not  the  result  of  a  judg- 
ment, but  of  an  instinctive  impulse. 

Sentimental  ism  and  rationalism  are,  therefore,  the 
two  characteristics,  by  which  systems  professing  to 
be  disinterested,  and,  under  some  form  or  other,  op- 
posing the  selfish  system,  may  be  distinguished  and 
classified. 

My  desire  is,  gentlemen,  by  an  exposition  of  a  few 
of  the  systems  embraced  under  these  two  categories, 
to  give  you  an  idea  of  all  which  either  one  class  or 
the  other  may  include.  I  cannot  attempt  to  describe 
each  of  these  various  doctrines,  for  the  task  would 
be  endless;  arid  it  will  be  quite  sufficient,  if  I  show 
you,  by  a  few  examples,  how  some,  by  seeking  the 
disinterested  element  in  the  sensibility,  and  others 
in  reason,  have  disfigured  the  true  principle.  These 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  103 

systems  are  all  worthy  of  our  highest  regard ;  the 
intentions  of  their  authors  were  generous  and  noble ; 
and,  though  they  have  erred  in  their  search  of  the 
disinterested  motive  of  volition,  they  yet  have  put 
faith  in  disinterestedness,  and  some  have  caught 
glimpses  of  it,  and  approached  it  nearly. 

I  will  begin  with  an  exposition  of  the  sentimental 
systems;  and  from  them  I  will  select  the  one  which, 
of  all  others,  is  the  most  ingenious  and  original  — 
I  mean  that  of  Adam  Smith,  as  it  is  exhibited  in  his 
work  entitled  "  The  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments." 
In  the  present  lecture,  it  will  be  my  purpose  to  give 
you  some  idea  of  the  principles  of  this  most  remark- 
able system. 

Smith  is  the  most  original  writer  that  Scotland 
has  produced  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years.  With 
his  great  work  on  political  economy  you  must  already 
be  somewhat  acquainted.  Of  that  science  he  was 
truly  the  father  —  establishing  it,  as  he  did,  upon  a 
foundation  of  such  facts  as  would  have  escaped  the 
attention  of  any  mind  less  penetrating  than  his  own. 
With  him,  philosophy  was,  comparatively,  a  secondary 
interest;  and  the  principal  results  of  his  inquiries  upon 
such  subjects  may  be  found  in  his  work  on  the  moral 
sentiments.  The  views  which  this  work  contains, 
however,  are  characterized  by  all  the  originality  and 
richness  of  his  mind  ;  and,  deceived  as  he  undoubtedly 
was  as  to  the  principle  of  morality,  it  may  yet  with 
truth  be  said,  that  the  facts  of  human  nature,  by  him 
brought  to  light  and  analyzed,  make  this  book  one 
of  the  most  precious  and  useful  that  can  be  consulted 
in  studying  the  science  of  human  nature.  I  will  limit 


104  JOUFFROY. 

myself  to  a  description  of  the  chief  facts  upon  which 
his  system  is  based  ;  they  are  perfectly  true  in  them- 
selves, arid  his  error  was  only  in  deducing  from  them 
consequences  which  they  do  not  justify. 

Whenever  we  see  a  man  deeply  affected  with  any 
sentiment  or  passion,  our  nature,  without  the  inter- 
vention of  either  reason  or  will,  tends  to  reproduce 
the  sentiment  or  passion ;  in  other  words,  our  nature 
is  disposed  to  place  itself  in  the  situation  of  the  person 
who  is  the  object  of  our  regard.  This  phenomenon, 
though  obscure  in  certain  cases,  is  perfectly  clear  and 
apparent  in  others.  When  we  gaze  upon  a  mother, 
whose  whole  look  and  air  manifest  warm  love  for  the 
child  upon  her  knee,  we  cannot  but  feel  a  similar 
disposition ,  springing  up  in  our  own  hearts;  and,  in 
a  thousand  instances,  which  it  is  not  worth  our  while 
particularly  to  notice,  the  same  thing  might  be  ob- 
served, as  every  one  will  testify.  Yet  more ;  this 
natural  inclination  to  feel  in  ourselves  the  emotions 
which  we  witness  in  another  human  being  goes  so 
far,  that  we  even  experience  it  in  regard  to  beings 
of  other  species,  when  they  are  to  any  considerable 
degree  animated,  and  bear  affinity  to  ourselves.  We 
cannot  see,  for  instance,  a  dog  manifesting  deep 
inward  pain,  without  feeling  a  similar  emotion  ;  and 
the  joyfulness  and  vivacity  of  a  bird,  as  it  skips  singing 
from  bough  to  bough,  awakens  in  our  minds  also 
joyful  emotions.  And  this  instinct  acts  even  when 
the  object  that  excites  it  is  repugnant  to  our  taste. 
The  sight  of  a  serpent  creeping  with  undulating  move- 
ment on  the  ground  inspires  us  with  some  disposition 
to  imitate  him.  And,  in  general,  whenever  a  sensible 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  105 

phenomenon,  of  which  we  ourselves  are  capable,  is 
observed  in  any  being  whose  nature  is  at  all  similar 
to  our  own,  there  springs  up  a  desire  to  feel  and  do 
the  same.  This  property  of  human  nature  is  sympathy, 
or,  at  least,  the  root  and  germ  of  that  to  which  we 
give  this  name. 

That  our  agreeable  or  disagreeable  sentiments  ac- 
quire new  force  and  acuteness  when  shared  by  a 
fellow-being,  is  a  fact  demonstrated  by  innumerable 
circumstances.  When  we  are  in  a  theatre,  where 
but  few  are  assembled  to  behold  the  representation, 
we  experience  infinitely  less  pleasure  than  when  the 
room  is  crowded,  and  we  are  conscious  that  all  around 
us  are  minds  affected  like  our  own  ;  this  is  notorious. 
The  mere  thought  that  our  souls  are  in  unison  with 
other  souls  —  that  the  sentiments  which  they  expe- 
rience are  similar  to  ours  in  nature  and  degree  — 
this  mere  thought  is  in  itself  a  source  of  pleasure; 
in  this  mere  sense  of  harmony  we  deeply  rejoice. 

To  these  two  facts  a  third  may  be  added.  So  strong 
and  instinctive  is  our  desire  for  this  agreement  of 
feeling  between  ourselves  and  those  around  us,  that, 
whenever  we  experience  an  emotion,  and  express  it 
where  any  person  is  present  who  is  not  similarly 
affected,  involuntarily  and  unconsciously  we  lower  our 
tone  and  soften  down  the  utterance  of  our  feeling, 
that  we  may  thus  be  brought  more  nearly  into  harmony 
with  his  calmness;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
unexcited  person  is  quickened  by  the  sight  of  our 
emotion,  till,  by  an  instinctive  complaisance,  his 
sympathetic  feeling  rises  as  high  as  our  original  feel- 
ing. This  fact  is  one  of  such  constant  occurrence. 


106  JOUFFROY. 

that  all  must  have  observed  it.  When  you  are  strongly 
moved  by  any  passion,  I  ask,  do  you  manifest  it  in 
its  full  force  in  the  presence  of  indifferent  spectators  ? 
Certainly  not.  You  temper  its  expression,  from  a 
regard  for  their  feelings.  And  they,  on  their  part, 
being  conscious  that  you  are  under  the  influence 
of  a  certain  impulse,  and  that  you  are  partially  con- 
cealing it  from  a  desire  of  being  in  harmony  with 
them,  not  only  share  your  feeling  through  sympathy, 
but,  by  an  effort,  seek  to  be  animated  with  equal 
strength  of  passion,  that  the  state  of  their  sensibility 
may  correspond  with  yours.  These  three  facts,  which 
have  now  been  noticed,  are  purely  instinctive ;  neither 
reason  nor  will  concur  to  produce  them. 

There  are  various  laws  governing  this  principle 
of  sympathy,  which  the  acute  mind  of  Smith  suc- 
ceeded in  discovering  and  establishing.  I  wish  to 
give  you  an  idea  of  them,  before  proceeding  to 
describe  the  moral  consequences  which  were  deduced 
from  them  by  this  philosopher.  But,  first,  let  me 
present  a  single  observation  upon  one  point  where 
I  differ  from  Smith.  Smith  thinks  that  this  natural 
propensity  is  not  one  which,  in  every  case,  takes  the 
form  of  sympathy,  but  that  often,  far  from  feeling 
a  desire  to  imitate,  we  are  conscious,  instead,  of  an 
antipathy.  For  instance,  when  we  see  a  man  impelled 
by  some  malevolent  passion,  our  nature,  Smith 
thinks,  experiences  a  repugnance,  rather  than  any 
wish  to  be  inspired  with  a  similar  feeling.  This  fact 
I  am,  of  course,  not  disposed  to  deny ;  but  I  explain 
it  quite  differently.  I  believe  that  the  first  impulse 
of  every  human  being,  without  exception,  where  signs 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM.  SMITH.  107 

of  any  emotion  in  a  fellow-being  are  manifested,  is 
to  be  similarly^aftected;  but  this  impulse,  it  appears 
to  me,  is,  in  many  instances,  restrained  and  modified, 
either  by  reflection  or  by  a  sympathy  yet  more  pow- 
erful for  emotions  experienced  by  other  beings.  This, 
however,  is  a  point  which  is  of  importance  only  as  a 
matter  of  science.  It  is  perfectly  true  that  there 
are  cases  in  which  sympathy  is  simple,  while  in  others 
it  is  divided  among  two,  three,  or  more  objects,  accord- 
ing as  more  or  fewer  persons  are  affected  by  the 
passion  manifested.  And  it  is  to  the  laws  which 
govern  sympathy  in  such  cases  that  I  now  wish  to 
direct  your  attention. 

Let  us  suppose  that  we  see  a  man  who  is  excited 
with  the  passion  of  anger,  and  not  without  adequate 
cause ;  instantly  two  facts  of  sympathy  appear.  On 
the  one  side,  I  sympathize  with  the  anger  which  is 
manifested  ;  on  the  other,  I  sympathize  with  him  who 
is  the  object  of  this  rage,  because  I  see  that  he  is 
threatened  with  a  danger.  Whether  the  individual  is 
conscious  or  ignorant  of  his  danger,  imagination  still 
represents  him  to  me  as  exposed  to  it,  and  I  feel  as 
a  human  being  should  who  is  the  object  of  another's 
hate.  Sympathy  places  me  at  once,  then,  in  the  sit- 
uation of  the  angry  man,  and  of  .the  person  against 
whom  his  indignation  is  directed ;  my  sympathies, 
therefore,  become  divided;  part  attach  themselves  to 
him  who  is  in  a  passion,  part  to  him  who  is  the  object 
of  aversion.  From  this  it  follows,  that  if  I  myself 
am  excited  with  anger,  and  experience  the  desire  felt 
by  all  men,  in  different  degrees,  of  being  in  harmony 
with  their  fellow-creatures,  I  must  moderate  the  ex- 


108  JOUFFROY. 

pression  of  my  passion ;  for  in  proportion  as  I  control 
myself  will  their  sympathy  with  the>  object  of  my 
anger  lessen,  and  their  sympathy  with  me  increase. 
This  guarded  exhibition  of  passion,  in  the  presence 
of  fellow-men,  is  instructive  in  all,  especially  if  the 
persons  around  are  strangers.  A  man  alone  in  his 
chamber  gives  way  to  the  full  violence  of  his  rage; 
in  the  presence  of  his  wife  and  children,  he  restrains, 
in  some  degree,  the  utterance  of  his  passion ;  but  in 
the  presence  of  one  whom  he  holds  in  high  esteem, 
and  whose  respect  he  desires  to  gain,  his  excitement 
at  once  and  instinctively  disappears.  This  fact  is  an 
additional  proof  of  that  need  of  sympathy,  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  all  human  beings  feel.  Sympathy  de- 
mands that  the  expression  of  any  passion  should  be 
moderated,  and  instinctively  it  is  done;  sympathy  re- 
quires that  the  least  manifestation  of  them  should  be 
repressed,  and  they  are  repressed  at  once.  Suppose  — 
although  the  supposition  is  incredible  —  that  I  am 
animated  by  a  purely  malevolent  affection ;  or,  in  other 
words,  that  unjustly,  and  without  cause,  I  am  filled 
with  a  desire  to  do  some  one  an  injury;  in  such  a 
case,  according  to  Smith,  this  malevolent  feeling 
would  excite  no  sympathy ;  according  to  my  idea,  it 
would,  although  the  sympathy  would  be  controlled  by 
that  felt  for  the  object  of  my  malevolence:  in  either 
view,  the  result  is  the  same.  In  a  case  where  such 
malevolence  is  exhibited,  sympathy  tends  to  attach 
itself  exclusively  to  the  being  who  is  threatened.  The 
man,  then,  who  feels  it,  is  naturally  inclined,  not 
only  to  express  it  with  moderation,  but  not  to  manifest 
it  at  all ;  it  is  the  bad,  therefore,  who  are  hypocrites ; 


THE    SENTIMENTAL     SYSTEM. SMITH.  109 

and  hypocrisy  is  instinctive  in  them,  and  not  the 
result  of  reflection  only;  reason,  indeed,  may  give 
new  force  to  the  instinct,  and  the  love  of  esteem  may 
lead  to  dissimulation ;  but  the  feeling  precedes  the 
act  of  reasoning,  and  this  instinctive  impulse,  accord- 
ing to  Smith,  is  only  one  form  in  which  is  manifested 
the  desire  of  being  in  harmony  of  feeling  with  our 
kind. 

Thus  have  I  shown  you  some  instances  in  which 
sympathy  is  composed  of  several  and  of  opposite  ele- 
ments ;  there  are  others,  where  it  is  simple,  and,  con- 
sequently, of  a  uniform  character.  Sympathy  of  this 
sort  may  be  seen  in  cases  where  our  emotions  have 
no  reference  to  the  well-being  of  others ;  for  example, 
in  the  love  of  truth :  however  strong  this  feeling  may 
be,  it  cannot  affect  the  happiness  of  our  fellow-beings ; 
the  disposition,  therefore,  can  excite  in  other  men 
only  emotions  of  pure  sympathy ;  and  there  is  no 
motive  of  instinct  or  reason  why  we  should  conceal 
them  at  all,  or  prevent  the  expression  of  our  whole 
feeling.  However  much  I  may  love  beauty  or  truth, 
I  see  not  why  I  should  moderate  the  utterance  of  my 
pleasure  in  the  presence  of  others ;  for  I  have  no 
ground  for  supposing  that  they  are  animated  by  any 
opposing  sentiment. 

Finally,  there  are  inward  emotions  which  may 
excite  sympathies  of  various,  though  not  opposing 
kinds.  Thus,  when  I  see  a  man  full  of  emotions  of 
pity,  charity,  love,  friendship,  a  twofold  sympathy 
arises ;  I  sympathize  with  the  benevolence  of  the  one 
party,  and  the  gratitude  of  the  other  —  with  the  object 
of  the  benevolent  feeling,  and  the  object  of  the  grateful 

VOL.    II.  K 


110 


JOUFFROY. 


feeling.  Now,  as  you  will  see,  these  two  kinds  of 
sympathy,  so  far  from  being  opposed,  tend  to  strengthen 
each  other  :  it  follows,  therefore,  that  the  benevolent 
affections  are,  of  all  others,  those  which  inspire  most 
sympathy,  and  which,  consequently,  contribute  most 
to  produce  among  men  that  harmony  of  feeling 
which  all  instinctively  desire ;  and  finally,  it  follows, 
that  there  can  be  no  necessity  for  dissimulation,  by 
restraining  ourselves  in  giving  them  expression. 

From  this  short  exposition,  you  may  see,  that  the 
analysis  of  the  phenomenon  of  sympathy  has  furnished 
Smith  with  an  explanation  of  a  vast  variety  of  the 
facts  of  human  nature  —  an  explanation  which  is  as 
ingenious  as  its  fundamental  idea  is  simple.  How  he 
employs  it  to  account  for  moral  facts,  properly  so 
called,  1  will  now  proceed  to  show. 

What,  asks  Smith,  is  the  approbation  or  disappro- 
bation of  another's  sentiments  ?  In  what  cases  do  we 
approve  —  in  what  disapprove  them?  On  reflection, 
we  shall  see,  "that  we  approve  when  we  share  them, 
and  disapprove  them  when  we  do  not ;  that  we  ap- 
prove them  entirely  when  we  share  them  entirely,  and 
partially  when  we  share  them  partially;  in  a  word, 
that  approbation  and  disapprobation  are  not  only  in 
our  reason  an  effect  of  the  purely  sensible  phenomena 
of  sympathy  and  antipathy,  but  in  every  case  are  an 
exact  representation  of  these  feelings.  If  this  is  true, 
the  origin  of  approbation  or  disapprobation,  in  refer- 
ence to  others,  is  perfectly  explained ;  they  spring 
from  sensibility  —  from  the  instinctive  phenomenon 
of  sympathy.  Our  judgments  upon  the  sentiments 
and  acts  of  our  fellow-beings  are  really  only  the  ex- 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  Ill 

pression  of  the  degree  of  our  sympathy  or  antipathy 
for  these  sentiments  and  acts.  But  we  thus  account 
for  only  a  part  of  our  moral  judgments ;  it  remains 
to  be  seen,  how  those  arise  which  are  directed  to  our 
own  sentiments  and  acts. 

Smith  asserts,  that  if  a  man  should  live  alone,  he 
would  never  judge  of  his  actions  as  being  good  or 
bad ;  for  the  only  means  by  which  he  could  determine 
the  quality  of  actions  would  be  wanting.  This  sin- 
gular opinion  of  his  is  founded  on  the  idea  that  sym- 
pathy is  the  principle  from  which  is  deduced  the  rule 
by  which  we  estimate  the  moral  qualities  of  all  acts, 
whether  of  ourselves  or  others,  and  distinguish  the 
good  from  the  bad.  Now,  as  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
that  two  human  beings  at  least  should  exist,  before 
the  sentiment  of  sympathy  can  be  developed,  it  is 
impossible  that  the  solitary  man  should  conceive  this 
rule,  and  thus  judge  of  the  morality  of  actions.  But 
how  does  sympathy  enable  him  to  conceive  this  rule  ? 
Let  us  see. 

Smith  states,  as  a  fact,  that  we  have  the  power, 
whenever  we  are  animated  by  any  disposition,  or  per- 
form any  act,  or  follow  any  course  of  conduct,  of 
looking  upon  this  sentiment,  act,  or  conduct,  as  an 
indifferent  spectator,  and  of  experiencing,  in  some 
degree,  such  a  sentiment  of  sympathy  as  we  should 
at  seeing  such  sentiments,  acts,  and  conduct  in  another 
person.  Now,  is  this  fact  upon  which  Smith  rests 
his  explanation  exactly  true?  Have  we  really  the 
power  of  making  ourselves  spectators  of  our  own 
dispositions  and  acts,  and  of  feeling  at  the  sight  suck 
sentiments  as  the  dispositions  and  acts  of  other  beings 


112  JOUFFROY. 

excite?  For  my  part,  gentlemen,  I  am  ready  to  say 
that  we  do,  undoubtedly,  possess  this  power ;  and, 
with  a  few  exceptions,  I  am  ready  to  recognize  the 
effects  which  he  ascribes  to  it. 

Smith  declares  that  when  we  are  carried  away  by 
a  violent  passion,  4his  passion  still  continues  to  act, 
though  in  so  feeble  a  manner  that  its  influence  is 
scarcely  to  be  traced ;  and,  further,  that  when  the 
passion  is  abated  and  calmed,  it  reappears  in  full 
energy  with  all  its  consequences ;  and  this  is  true ; 
for  then  do  we  represent  vividly  to  ourselves  the 
appearance  which  we  have  exhibited,  and  feel,  in  all 
their  distinctness,  the  sentiments  of  sympathy  or  an- 
tipathy which  our  acts  are  fitted  to  awake.  It  is 
of  little  consequence,  in  Smith's  opinion,  whether 
these  feelings  of  sympathy  or  antipathy  are  more  or 
less  acute,  or  whether  they  are  manifested  earlier  or 
later  :  the  important  fact  is,  that  we  do  really  experi- 
ence them  :  he  asks  us  only  to  grant  that  we  have 
the  capacity  of  being  thus  impressed,  and  his  system, 
he  thinks,  is  justified. 

If,  says  he,'  we  have  an  urgent  natural  desire  to  be, 
in  our  dispositions  and  sentiments,  in  harmony  with 
our  fellow-beings,  it  is  only  necessary  for  us  to  feel 
that  a  particular  disposition  would  excite  their  antipa- 
thy, to  make  us  consider  it  bad ;  and  if,  on  the  con- 
trary, we  are  conscious  of  a  disposition  which  would 
excite  their  sympathy,  we  shall  think  it  good ;  and, 
finally,  should  we  be  aware  that  our  state  of  feeling 
is  one  which  would  excite  their  mingled  sympathy  and 
fntipathy,  we  should  judge  it  to  be  neither  perfectly 
good  nor  perfectly  bad.  Hence  a  principle  by  which 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM.  SMITH.  113 

we  judge  of  our  own  sentiments  and  acts,  by  sympa- 
thy, as  we  should  those  of  our  fellow-beings ;  so  that, 
just  as  we  should  estimate  the  acts  of  others,  by  the 
sympathy  or  antipathy  which  they  excite  in  us,  do  we 
estimate  our  own,  by  the  sympathy  or  antipathy  which 
they  are  fitted  to  excite  in  others,  —  a  sympathy 
and  antipathy,  for  which,  in  both  cases,  we  are 
indebted  to  our  power  of  placing  ourselves  in  the 
situation  of  other  persons,  and  thus  entering  into 
their  feelings. 

From  these  two  principles,  for  the  moral  estimation 
of  the  sentiments  and  acts  of  ourselves  and  others, 
results  a  more  general  principle,  by  which  to  judge 
of  all  dispositions  and  modes  of  conduct :  it  is  by 
means  of  these  that  we  ascend  to  the  general  maxim, 
which,  according  to  Smith,  is  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciple of  morality — that  the  goodness  of  an  act  is  in 
direct  ratio  to  the  approbation  which  it  receives  from 
others,  and  that  the  best  acts  are  those  which  are 
fitted  to  excite  pure  and  universal  sympathy,  —  a 
sympathy  unmingled  with  antipathy,  —  the  sympathy 
not  of  a  few,  but  of  every  individual  of  the  human 
race.  Hence,  gentlemen,  a  scale  of  the  moral  good 
and  evil  of  acts,  graduated  by  this  universal  standard, 
and  a  code  of  rules  for  conduct. 

In  proportion  as  experience  teaches  us  to  recognize 
the  acts  which  are  fitted  to  awaken  pure  sympathy 
or  antipathy,  or  mingled  sympathy  and  antipathy,  do 
we  learn  to  estimate  their  value,  and  impress  on  the 
memory  their  moral  quality.  Hence  the  maxims  and 
rules  which  we  find  in  the  minds  of  the  mature. 
When  once  discovered  by  experience  and  stored  in 


114 


JOUFFROY. 


memory,  we  become  able  to  form  judgments  imme- 
diately, by  means  of  these  ascertained  and  established 
rules ;  and  thus  the  labor  of  making  estimates  of  our 
own  and  others'  acts  is  abridged,  and  self-command 
strengthened,  in  cases  where  passion  is  so  violent  as 
to  deprive  us  of  our* power  of  judging  by  sympathy. 
At  such  times,  I  may  rely  for  direction  on  the  rule 
which  pronounces  the  emotion  good  or  bad,  and  yield 
to  or  restrain  it,  without  fear  of  feeling  remorse  when 
my  calmness  is  restored.  The  same  is  true  of  those 
instances  in  which  the  perplexities  and  cares  of  life 
prevent  me  from  freely  entering  into  the  inmost  feel- 
ings of  others,  and  subjecting  their  dispositions  to  the 
test  of  my  sympathy  or  antipathy :  the  test  by  which 
I  must  then  judge  is  the  rule  that  pronounces  what 
sentiments  and  acts  are  proper  in  any  given  situation. 
Hence  we  may  appreciate  the  utility  of  the  rules  which 
result  from  experience,  and  are  the  fruits  of  repeated 
applications  of  the  principle  of  sympathy  or  an- 
tipathy. 

Such  is  the  manner  in  which  Smith  explains,  by 
sympathy,  the  fundamental  phenomenon  of  moral 
distinctions.  And  of  course  he  finds  no  difficulty  in 
accounting  for  secondary  moral  phenomena.  But,  as 
time  will  not  permit  me  to  follow  him  into  all  these 
details,  I  will  .select,  as  a  specimen,  the  origin,  which, 
with  entire  fidelity  to  his  main  principle,  he  assigns 
to  the  sentiment  of  merit  or  demerit. 

You  are  already  well  informed  as  to  the  nature 
of  this  phenomenon  ;  you  are  aware,  that,  when  we 
contemplate  a  good  or  bad  action,  a  judgment  of 
reason  accompanies  our  sensation  of  pleasure  or  pain, 


THE     SENTIMENTAL     SYSTEM. SMITH.  115 

and  that,  in  the  one  case,  we  consider  the  agent 
worthy  of  reward,  in  the  other,  of  punishment,  and 
are  thus  inclined  to  wish  them  happiness  or  suffering. 
This  phenomenon  admits  of  a  very  simple  explanation 
in  the  system  of  Smith.  When  I  witness  an  act  of 
benevolence,  I  experience  not  only  a  feeling  of  sym- 
pathy for  the  state  of  mind  of  the  benevolent  person, 
but  also  for  that  of  the  object  of  his  kindness.  What 
is  this?  It  is  gratitude.  And  what  is  gratitude, 
except  a  desire  of  benefiting  him  who  has  done 
us  a  favor,  and  because  he  has  done  it  ?  Participating 
as  a  spectator  in  this  feeling,  I  wish  well  to  the  author 
of  the  act;  I  feel,  in  other  words,  that  he  merits 
happiness  as  a  reward  for  his  conduct.  What  hap- 
pens, on  the  contrary,  when  I  see  a  man  animated 
with  malevolence  ?  I  feel  no  sympathy  for  him ;  but 
all  my  feelings  are  directed  towards  him  who  is  the 
object  of  hatred,  into  whose  situation  and  state  of 
mind  I  fully  enter.  Now,  what  are  your  emotions 
when  you  perceive  yourself  to  be  regarded  with  aver- 
sion ?  Instinctively,  you  desire  to  return  ill  for  ill ; 
a  spectator,  then,  who  sympathizes  with  your  feelings, 
must  judge  your  enemy  to  be  worthy  of  punishment ; 
that  is  to  say,  deserving  of  the  pain,  which,  in  his 
malevolence,  he  seeks  to  inflict  on  you.  Such,  in 
Smith's  view,  is  the  natural  explanation  of  the  judg- 
ment of  merit  and  demerit. 

With  apparently  equal  facility,  he  explains  the 
pleasure  that  we  experience  when  we  have  done  well, 
and  the  remorse  which  accompanies  wrong  doing.  By 
my  power  of  becoming  a  spectator  of  my  own  dispo- 
sitions and  acts,  I  feel  for  myself,  when  I  have  acted 


116  JOUFFROY. 

right,  a  sentiment  of  sympathy ;  and  this  emotion 
makes  me  conclude  that  others,  who  behold  the  act, 
feel  for  me  a  similar  sentiment.  I  am  conscious, 
therefore,  of  a  profound  accordance  between  my  con- 
duct and  their  feelings,  and  between  their  emotions 
and  my  own ;  and  we  have  before  seen  how  delightful 
is  this  sense  of  harmony.  In  this,  then,  consists  the 
pleasure  of  doing  well.  Yet  more';  having  established 
the  rule  by  which  to  determine  the  moral  quality  of 
acts,  I  feel  authorized  to  pronounce  my  conduct  right, 
because  I  have  learned  that  all  conduct  is  right  which 
secures  the  sympathy  of  others.  In  this  consists  the 
approbation  which  I  feel  for  myself,  and  which  blends 
with  the  sensation  of  pleasure.  For  the  opposite 
reason,  I  feel,  when  I  have  done  wrong,  the  peculiar 
pain  which  is  called  remorse,  and  disapprove  and 
blame  myself. 

Thus  have  I  exhibited  the  general  elements  of 
Smith's  system ;  and  you  can  readily  imagine  how 
it  may  be  carried  out  and  completed.  In  his  work, 
however,  the  applications  of  it  are  innumerable,  arid 
their  ingenuity  and  delicacy  are  infinite. 

As  soon  as  a  man's  nature  is  developed,  and  the 
principle  of  moral  estimation  and  the  rules  of  expe- 
rience are  established  in  his  mind,  he  possesses  all 
necessary  elements  for  the  approbation  of  any  benevo- 
lent act  which  he  may  behold.  He  experiences  a 
twofold  sympathy ;  first,  for  the  motives  of  the  agent ; 
secondly,  for  the  happiness  and  gratitude  of  the  object. 
Again,  he  perceives  the  conformity  of  the  act  done 
with  the  rule  of  morality  communicated  by  experience; 
so  that,  independently  of  the  instinctive  judgment, 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  117 

here  is  also  a  judgment  of  reason  upon  its  goodness. 
A  mature  man,  then,  feels,  in  the  contemplation  of  a 
good  action,  not  only  a  sentiment  of  sympathy,  and 
a  kind  emotion  for  the  agent,  but  to  these  is  added 
a  rational  judgment  of  approbation.  In  children,  and 
often  in  men  of  vulgar  minds,  this  third  element, 
indeed,  is  wanting ;  for,  before  it  can  exist,  reason 
must  have  created,  or  experience  introduced,  the 
general  rules  of  morality  whose  formation  we  have 
explained ;  and  approbation,  as  a  judgment  of  reason, 
is  only  the  recognition  of  an  act  as  conformable  to 
these  rules ;  it  necessarily,  therefore,  presupposes  them. 
But  this  is  not  all  ;  the  action  appears  to  us  fitted, 
by  its  nature,  to  promote  such  a  general  system  of 
conduct  as  will  tend  to  bring  the  sentiments  of  all 
men  into  harmony.  Now,  this  universal  harmony 
is  felt  to  be  eminently  beautiful,  or,  rather,  as  we 
might  say,  to  be  moral  beauty  itself;  and  we  pro- 
nounce the  act,  therefore,  riot  only  good,  but  beau- 
tiful. It  is  here  that  Smith  finds  the  principle  of 
moral  beauty,  which  he  esteems  the  source  of  all 
beauty. 

As  this  latter  point  may  seem  less  clear  than  those 
already  mentioned,  let  us  dwell  a  little  longer  upon 
its  consideration. 

If  all  men  should  conduct  themselves  in  such  a 
way  as  to  secure  for  their  acts  the  sympathy  of  their 
fellow-beings,  it  is  plain  that  there  would  ensue  an 
entire  accordance  of  feeling,  and  consequently  a  state 
of  perfect  harmony.  It  is  this  harmony  that  is  beau- 
tiful ;  and  Smith  compares  the  pleasure,  which  the 


118  JOUFFROY. 

prospect  of  it  affords,  to  that  which  we  experience 
when  gazing  upon  a  complicated  piece  of  mechanism, 
whose  various  movements  resolve  themselves  into  one. 
This  gratification  of  taste  is  felt,  to  some  degree,  m 
the  contemplation  of  every  action  that  is  morally 
good. 

Smith  has  not  overlooked  nor  concealed  the  fact, 
that,  in  many  instances,  a  good  act,  far  from  securing 
the  kind  affections  of  men,  subjects  us,  on  the  con- 
trary, to  their  hate ;  and  he  explains  this  anomaly, 
by  saying  that  men  are  often  animated  by  passions 
and  prejudices  which  are  themselves  discordant  with 
the  universal  laws  of  morality.  He  acknowledges, 
therefore,  that  there  are  circumstances,  in  which  a 
good  man  is  called  upon  to  brave  the  antipathy  of  his 
immediate  associates,  that  he  may  win  the  sympathy 
of  mankind  at  large.  And  it  is  here  that  the  appli- 
cation of  the  principle  of  sympathy  becomes  peculiarly 
delicate  and  difficult,  and  its  insufficiency  displayed. 
But  it  must  be  fully  granted,  that  Smith  has  not 
hesitated  to  bring  his  system  to  this  test;  he  has 
admitted,  that  the  virtuous  man  must  often,  in  doing 
what  he  ought,  —  and  precisely  because  he  does  what 
he  ought,; — place  himself  in  opposition  to  the  spirit 
of  his  country  and  of  his  age,  and  thus  bring  upon 
himself  the  antipathy  of  his  contemporaries.  Smith 
might  have  passed  by  in  silence  this  case,  which 
it  is  so  embarrassing,  by  his  principles,  to  explain ; 
and,  therefore,  although  his  attempted  explanation 
does  but  little  credit  to  the  logical  powers  of  the 
philosopher,  yet  the  candor,  with  which  he  has  stated 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  119 

the  difficulty,  secures  our  respect  for  the  probity  of  the 
man. 

Such,  then,  gentlemen,  are  the  fundamental  ideas 
of  Smith.  In  my  next  lecture,  I  will  present  some 
critical  remarks  upon  this  ethical  system. 


JOUFFROY 


LECTURE   XVII. 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

GENTLEMEN, 

ETHICAL  systems  are  characterized  and  dis- 
tinguished by  the  nature  of  their  answers  to  certain 
questions,  which  every  ethical  system  must  attempt 
to  solve.  The  destiny  of  man  on  earth  —  that  is  to 
say,  the  end  to  which  his  efforts  should  be  directed  — 
the  test  by  which  good  is  distinguished  from  evil  in 
conduct  —  or,  in  other  words,  the  rule  by  which  the 
moral  quality  of  acts  may  be  determined — and,  lastly, 
the  motive  which  impels  us  to  act  conformably  to 
this  rule,  and  insures  its  supreme  control  over  our 
wills  —  such  are  the  fundamental  points,  which  it  is 
the  object  of  every  ethical  system  to  determine,  and 
which  different  systems  determine  differently.  A 
system,  which  should  give  no  answer  to  either  of 
these  questions,  would  not  be  an  ethical  system.  In 
answering  any  one,  however,  it  answers  all ;  for,  so 
closely  connected  are  the  end  of  life,  the  rule  of  moral 
estimation,  and  the  legitimate  motive  for  action,  that, 
when  one  is  determined,  the  answer  to  the  other  two 
naturally  follows ;  and,  consequently,  if  we  know  the 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  121 

opinion  of  a  philosopher  upon  either  of  these  points, 
we  are  acquainted  with  his  entire  ethical  system. 

These  considerations  indicate  the  proper  method 
of  discovering  the  true  character  of  an  ethical  system. 
If  we  desire  to  ascertain  definitely  the  character  of  a 
system,  and  to  obtain  an  expression  of  it,  precisely 
as  it  is,  the  true  way  is  to  seek  a  reply  to  these  three 
questions,  or  to  some  one  of  the  three ;  when  its 
answer  is  given,  we  shall  know  all  that  can  be  known 
about  it,  and  can  classify  it. 

Answers  to  these  several  questions  are  not  given 
with  equal  readiness  by  all  systems;  the  replies  of 
some  are  immediate  and  direct ;  but  those  of  others 
are  so  subtle  and  equivocal,  so  inconsistent  with 
themselves,  and  contradictory  to  the  common  sense 
of  men,  that  we  cannot,  without  difficulty,  disengage 
the  thought  which  they  express,  and  strip  the  disguise 
from  their  real  meaning. 

Selfish  systems  give  the  clearest  answer  to  the  three 
questions  which  we  have  suggested.  And  hence  arises 
the  simplicity  of  their  solution  of  the  moral  problem, 
derived  as  it  is  from  an  order  of  phenomena  of  which 
every  individual  has  a  distinct  and  vivid  consciousness. 
A  system,  which  teaches  that  pleasure  is  the  end  of 
life,  is  comprehended  at  once;  and,  if  the  pursuit 
of  pleasure  is  the  end,  it  is  evident  that  the  motive 
must  be  the  desire  of  happiness,  and,  consequently, 
that  the  test  of  goodness  in  conduct  is  the  tendency 
of  acts  to  promote  our  welfare.  Nothing,  then,  can 
be  simpler  or  clearer  than  the  selfish  systems ;  and 
the  only  difficulty  in  regard  to  them  is  to  detect  the 
shades  of  difference  which  distinguish  them. 


122  JOUFFROY. 

This  is  far  from  being  the  case  with  systems  which 
seek  in  instinct  for  an  explanation  of  the  moral  facts 
of  human  nature ;  these  are  as  obscure  as  the  instinct 
itself.  Obliged,  in  establishing  their  foundation,  to 
describe,  in  their  primitive  aspect  and  subsequent  trans- 
formations, numerous  facts,  —  which,  as  they  belong  to 
the  spontaneous  part  of  our  nature,  are  most  subtile 
and  transient,  —  these  systems  do  not  present  that 
appearance  of  simplicity,  by  which  the  selfish  systems 
are  characterized ;  and  it  is  necessary,  therefore, 
if  we  would  understand  exactly  their  answers  to  the 
fundamental  questions  of  morality,  to  analyze  them 
with  care,  and  follow  the  various  windings  by  which 
they  attempt  to  evade  them.  And,  true  as  this  is 
of  the  instinctive  systems  in  general,  it  is  peculiarly 
so  of  the  system  of  Smith,  whose  mind  was  so  in- 
genious and  fruitful,  that  it  sacrificed  willingly,  to 
the  pleasure  of  describing  facts  and  of  displaying 
their  various  relations  and  consequences,  the  rapid 
and  methodical  order  that  never  loses  sight  of  the 
thread  of  its  inductions,  but  proceeds,  with  clearness 
of  reasoning,  from  the  phenomena  by  which  it  pro- 
fesses to  explain  moral  questions,  to  the  precise  con- 
clusions fairly  involved. 

I  have  studied  Smith's  system  with  all  the  attention 
which  it  demands,  that  I  might  be  able  to  give  a 
thorough  and  exact  idea  of  it;  and  I  feel  prepared 
to  describe  its  precise  answers  to  the  three  great 
questions  which  every  ethical  system  is  bound  to 
solve.  It  is  necessary,  if  we  would  judge  of  the 
truth  of  this  complicated  system,  that  we  should  see 
its  exact  nature  ;  and  we  can  do  this  only  by  bringing 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  123 

it  to  the  test  of  these  three  questions,  and  determining 
precisely  its  answer  to  each.  This,  then,  I  shall 
attempt  to  do;  I  shall  successively  present  to  the 
doctrine  of  sympathy  these  questions,  state  its  answers, 
examine  each  of  these  answers  in  itself  and  in  com- 
parison with  human  nature,  and  thus  endeavor  to 
determine  the  adequateness  and  truth  of  the  system. 
It  may  seem  as  if  such  an  examination  must  be  un- 
necessarily long  ;  but,  besides  the  consideration  that 
it  is  absolutely  required  by  the  obscurity  of  the  system, 
it  may  be  said  that  we  shall  really  gain  time  m  pur- 
suing this  course;  for,  if  we  can  but  discover  the 
error  of  Smith's  system,  we  shall  have  equally  detected 
the  mistakes  of  all  other  systems  which  seek,  in  the 
spontaneous  impulses  of  human  nature,  a  solution 
of  the  moral  problem.  And  be  assured,  that  the 
instinctive  system  will  lose  nothing  in  being  judged 
by  the  system  of  sympathy ;  its  defence  was  never 
in  better  hands.  Smith  was  a  profound  observer,  an 
ingenious  dialectician,  and  a  fine  writer ;  no  other 
philosopher  has  ever  surrounded  the  system  with  such 
an  air  of  plausibility,  nor  brought  to  its  support  so 
many  facts,  nor  strengthened  it  by  so  many  analogies, 
nor  applied  it  in  such  a  variety  of  specious  ways. 
And,  in  addition,  this  system  has  the  merit  of  being 
founded  upon  the  very  instinct  which  seems  most 
entitled  to  respect.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say,  that, 
if  Smith  cannot  maintain  the  system  of  instinct,  its 
defence  must  be  hopeless. 

To  resume,  then  ;  the  method  by  which  I  shall  be 
governed  in  this  examination  of  Smith's  system,  is  as 
follows  :  —  I  shall  inquire,  first,  what  rule  or  principle 


124  JOUFFROY. 

it  recognizes  for  moral  estimation ;  secondly,  what 
motive  it  supposes  us  to  be  impelled  by,  when  we 
act  conformably  to  this  rule;  thirdly,  and  lastly,  what 
end  it  assigns  to  human  conduct  in  the  present  life. 
I  shall  then  take  up  its  various  answers  on  these 
different  points,  determine  whether  they  are  consistent 
and  admissible  in  themselves,  and  then  compare  them 
with  the  real  facts.  Let  us  now  proceed  to  the  first 
point  proposed. 

Our  moral  judgments  extend  to  two  classes  of 
actions  —  those  performed  by  other  beings,  those 
performed  by  ourselves.  We  determine  the  character 
of  these  acts,  and  pronounce  them  good  or  bad,  by 
means  of  some  principle.  What,  in  Smith's  opinion, 
is  this  principle  ? 

Our  judgments  upon  acts,  according  to  this  philoso- 
pher, are  only  the  consequence  of  those  passed  upon 
the  affections  and  sensible  emotions  which  produce 
them.  Sensible  affections  are,  in  his  opinion,  the 
peculiar  and  direct  objects  of  moral  estimation,  which 
is  limited  to  these  affections  when  they  issue  in  no 
acts,  and  extends  to  acts  when  the  affections  are  fol- 
lowed out.  Now,  before  we  can  estimate  the  moral 
worth  of  an  affection,  we  must  contemplate  it  under 
two  points  of  view ;  first,  with  reference  to  its  exciting 
cause ;  next,  to  the  effects  which  it  is  fitted  to  produce. 
Considered  in  relation  to  its  cause,  it  may  be  proper 
or  improper ;  considered  in  relation  to  its  tendency, 
it  may  have  merit  or  demerit.  Propriety,  then, 
and  impropriety,  merit  and  demerit,  are  the  moral 
properties  by  which  affections,  and  consequently  acts, 
may  be  estimated.  By  what  principle  or  rule  do 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  125 

we  judge  whether  an  affection  is  proper  or  improper 
on  the  one  side,  and  has  merit  or  demerit  on  the 
other?  Such  is  the  question  to  be  determined.  If  we 
can  discover  this  principle,  from  which,  according  to 
Smith,  this  twofold  judgment  is  derived,  we  shall  have 
discovered  the  principle  given  by  his  system  for  the 
moral  estimation  of  actions ;  because,  to  determine 
the  moral  quality  of  affections,  or  of  acts,  is,  in  his 
opinion,  the  same  thing.  Let  us  inquire,  then,  what 
this  principle  is,  by  which  we  judge  our  own  acts  and 
the  acts  of  others. 

Our  manner  of  judging  of  the  propriety  or  impro- 
priety of  the  emotions  of  others  is  as  follows  :  —  To 
a  certain  degree,  the  impartial  spectator  experiences, 
through  sympathy,  the  emotion  he  beholds ;  and,  as 
he  can  approve  only  so  far  as  he  shares  an  emotion, 
the  degree  of  his  sympathy  determines  how  far  he 
will  consider  and  pronounce  it  proper  ;  in  proportion 
as  it  is  manifested  by  the  person  who  feels  it,  in  a 
stronger  or  weaker  degree  than  this  sympathy,  will 
it  be  considered  too  weak  or  too  strong,  and,  conse- 
quently, disapproved  as  improper.  For  instance,  a 
man  receives  a  blow,  and  gives  signs  of  pain :  I,  as 
witness  of  his  sufferings,  am  aroused  to  sympathy, 
and  partake  his  feeling;  but,  in  me,  this  sympathetic 
emotion  rises  only  to  a  certain  height ;  if  the  original 
subject  of  the  emotion  manifests  it  in  a  stronger 
degree  than  this,  it  seems  to  me  improper ;  but  if  in 
a  similar  degree,  then  it  seems  to  me  proper.  This 
common  example  will  serve  to  indicate  the  principle 
of  all  our  judgments  of  propriety  and  impropriety, 
both  of  the  dispositions  and  acts  of  others. 

L2 


126  JOUFFROY. 

Affections  will  differ  from  each  other  in  regard 
to  their  propriety  or  impropriety ;  in  the  benevolent 
affections,  for  example,  the  spectator  may  participate 
in  the  highest  possible  degree,  while  there  are  others 
in  which  he  cannot  share  at  all,  such  as  envy,  and 
other  malevolent  feelings.  These  latter,  therefore, 
are  radically  improper,  as  well  as  all  acts  which 
emanate  from  them ;  the  expression  of  them  must  be 
entirely  suppressed,  and  on  no  account  must  they  be 
allowed  to  influence  our  conduct.  Between  these 
two  extremes  may  be  ranked  the  various  emotions 
of  which  our  sensibility  is  susceptible. 

Such  is  the  rule  by  which  we  judge  of  the  propriety 
or  impropriety  of  the  affections  of  other  beings;  and, 
as  you  see,  it  is  nothing  else  than  the  sympathetic 
emotion  of  an  impartial  spectator.  The  degree  of  the 
sympathy  determines  the  degree  of  the  propriety  or 
impropriety  of  all  affections,  and,  consequently,  of  all 
acts,  in  which  they  issue.  Let  us  pass  now  to  the 
consideration  of  merit  and  demerit. 

The  tendency  of  emotions  may  be  beneficial  or 
injurious.  In  the  first  case,  they  excite  in  their  object 
gratitude ;  in  the  second,  resentment.  I,  as  an  im- 
partial spectator,  am  impelled  to  share  in  the  feelings 
which  I  see  exhibited.  I  am  animated,  therefore, 
at  once,  by  the  benevolent  or  malevolent  disposition 
of  the  agent,  and  by  the  gratitude  or  resentment  of  the 
object.  Well :  according  to  Smith,  when  the  impartial 
spectator  sympathizes  entirely  and  unreservedly  with 
the  feelings  of  the  object  of  these  dispositions,  he 
participates  in  them,  and  approves  them,  and  therefore 
adopts  them  altogether.  His  judgment  is,  then,  that 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM.  SMITH.  127 

the  affection  of  the  agent  is  deserving  of  recompense 
in  the  one  case,  and  of  punishment  in  the  other ;  for 
what  is  gratitude  except  the  desire  of  rendering  good 
for  good  ?  or  resentment,  except  the  desire  of  render- 
ing evil  for  evil?  Such,  then,  is  the  origin  and  true 
nature  of  the  judgment  of  merit  and  demerit. 

But  in  what  cases  does  the  impartial  spectator 
sympathize  entirely  with  the  gratitude  or  resentment 
of  the  object?  He  sympathizes  entirely  with  the 
gratitude  of  the  object,  when  he  also  sympathizes 
entirely  with  the  affection  of  the  agent  —  that  is  to 
say,  when  he  judges  it  to  be  proper ;  and  he  sym- 
pathizes entirely  with  the  resentment  of  the  object, 
when  he  cannot  sympathize  at  all  with  the  affection 
of  the  agent  —  that  is  to  say,  when  he  judges  it  to 
be  improper.  On  this  twofold  condition  does  the 
impartial  spectator  sympathize  entirely  with  the  grati- 
tude or  resentment  of  the  one  party,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, judge  that  the  dispositions  of  the  other  have 
merit  or  demerit. 

Hence,  gentlemen,  you  see  that  it  is  the  sympathy 
of  the  spectator  which  determines  the  merit  or  demerit 
of  emotions  and  acts,  just  as  it  determines  their  pro- 
priety or  impropriety.  When  is  an  affection,  and 
the  action  emanating  from  it,  and  the  agent  expe- 
riencing it,  judged  by  me  to  be  deserving  of  punish- 
ment or  reward?  It  is  when  I  partake  entirely  of  the 
gratitude  or  resentment  which  the  affection  inspires 
in  the  person  who  is  its  object.  And  when  is  sym- 
pathy thus  perfect?  It  is  when  I  participate  fully 
in  the  benevolent  emotions  of  the  agent,  and  feel 
nothing  of  his  malevolence.  It  is  sympathy,  then, 


123  JotFFROY. 

that  instinctively  determines  for  me,  the  impartial 
spectator,  the  merit  and  demerit,  as  it  does  the  pro- 
priety and  impropriety  of  sentiments,  actions,  and 
agents.  Here,  then,  according  to  this  system,  is  the 
principle  of  all  our  judgments  of  other  beings.  And 
now  let  us  inquire  what  is  the  principle  by  which 
we  judge  of  ourselves. 

With  regard  to  our  own  emotions,  and,  consequently, 
our  actions,  and  ourselves,  we  are  capable  of  judging, 
as  we  judge  in  the  case  of  others;  that  is  to  say,  we 
form  estimates  of  them,  under  the  twofold  aspect  of 
propriety  and  impropriety,  of  merit  and  demerit. 
What  is  the  nature  of  this  phenomenon,  and  what  is 
the  principle  of  these  judgments?  Let  us  observe 
the  explanation  which  the  system  gives. 

Smith  maintains  that  I  can  judge  of  my  own 
affections  and  actions  only  by  placing  myself  in  the 
situation  of  an  impartial  spectator,  and  by  regarding 
them  from  his  point  of  view.  Without  this  mental 
process,  which  would  be  impossible,  of  course,  for  a 
solitary  man,  we  should  never  pass  moral  judgments 
upon  ourselves.  When  I  am  animated,  therefore,  with 
any  emotion,  and  wish  to  determine  its  propriety  or 
impropriety,  its  merit  or  demerit,  this  is  what  I  do  — 
I  place  myself  in  the  situation  of  an  impartial  specta- 
tor, and,  with  the  power  which  I  have  of  entering  into 
the  feeling  of  others,  I  feel,  at  sight  of  this  senti- 
ment, precisely  as  an  impartial  spectator  would  him- 
self. I  am  able,  therefore,  to  judge  of  its  moral 
quality  exactly  as  others  would  judge,  and  as  I  should 
myself  judge,  if  the  sentiment  were  displayed  by 
another,  only  with  greater  precision,  because  my 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  129 

knowledge  is  more  accurate,  both  of  the  sentiment 
itself,  of  its  relation  to  its  cause,  and  of  its  actual 
tendency. 

Smith  does  not  deny,  that  when  emotions  are  strong, 
it  is  difficult,  at  the  moment,  to  contemplate  them  im- 
partially, and  thus  sympathize  with  them.  But  this 
only  shows,  that,  in  such  cases,  we  judge  amiss,  and 
it  still  remains  true,  that  this  operation  of  mind  is 
necessary  for  a  correct  judgment;  and  a  strong  proof 
of  this  is,  that  we  never  form  as  just  an  estimate  of 
our  affections,  as  in  moments  when  we  are  not  under 
their  influence ;  or,  in  other  words,  when  there  is  no 
obstacle  to  my  thus  placing  myself  in  the  situation 
of  a  spectator. 

Thus,  gentlemen,  it  appears,  that  the  system  is 
consistent  with  itself;  and  that  the  principle,  by  which 
we  determine  the  moral  quality  of  our  own  acts,  is 
the  same  as  that  by  which  we  judge  of  the  acts  of  our 
fellow-beings.  In  both  cases,  it  is  the  sympathetic 
emotion  of  the  impartial  spectator  that  decides.  The 
only  difference  between  the  two  cases  is,  that,  in  the 
first,  the  sympathy  is  felt  immediately,  while  in  the 
second,  it  is  awakened  only  by  an  indirect  Operation 
of  mind. 

One  other  point  remains  to  be  mentioned,  to  com- 
plete a  fair  and  full  analysis  of  Smith's  system.  Smith 
asserts  that  an  experience  of  the  judgments  passed 
upon  others,  and  expressed  by  them,  gradually  teach 
us  to  know  what  affections  are  proper  or  improper, 
and  have  merit  or  demerit.  Hence  arise  general 
rules,  which  impress  themselves  on  our  memories, 
and  become  those  laws  of  morality  which  are  so 


130 


JOUFFROY. 


often  considered  primitive  in  our  nature,  but  which 
really  are  only  generalizations  from  particular  judg- 
ments of  the  instinct  of  sympathy.  Now,  when  these 
rules,  resulting  from  experience,  are  once  established 
in  our  minds,  it  often  happens  that  we  pass  judgments 
without  regard  to  sympathy ;  and  thus  our  mode  of 
moral  estimation,  originally  instinctive,  becomes  rea- 
sonable. Such  is  the  fact,  and  you  can  comprehend 
it  perfectly.  What,  in  such  cases,  is  the  principle 
of  moral  qualification?  Is  it  altered?  By  no  means; 
for  these  rules  are  only  the  expression  of  emotions 
experienced  by  the  impartial  spectator,  and  have  no 
other  authority  than  his  sympathy.  It  is  the  emotion 
of  the  impartial  spectator,  which,  in  this  case,  as 
in  all  others,  judges  and  decides. 

In  every  possible  application,  then,  the  system  is 
consistent,  and  its  answer  is  always  the  same,  whether 
we  judge  of  our  own  affections  or  of  the  affections 
of  other  beings,  —  whether  we  judge  instinctively  or 
by  rules,  —  whether  we  consider  acts  in  the  light  of 
their  propriety  or  impropriety,  their  merit  or  demerit ; 
the  mode  of  moral  appreciation  remains  the  same, 
the  systefn  reiterates  its  principle,  and  asserts  that  its 
rule  of  the  sympathy  of  the  impartial  spectator  is  a 
sufficient  test  for  moral  judgments.  Such  is  the  exact 
answer  of  Smith's  system  to  the  first  question  pro- 
posed. 

And  now,  gentlemen,  this  rule  of  moral  qualifica- 
tion being  fully  determined  arid  brought  to  light, 
we  are  prepared  to  judge  of  its  correctness,  and  ap- 
preciate the  truth  of  the  system  which  is  based  in 
oart  upon  it.  This  must  be  our  next  step. 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  131 

The  first  difficulty  presented  by  this  rule  is,  that 
it  cannot  be  easily  comprehended.  I  perfectly  under- 
stand that  the  supposed  spectator  may  feel  sympathy  ; 
but  I  cannot  explain  the  impartiality,  which  Smith 
requires.  What  kind  of  impartiality  is  it  that  he 
speaks  of?  Evidently,  it  is  not  an  impartiality  of  the 
judgment;  for  reason  must  not  be  allowed  to  enter 
into  moral  estimates,  or  they  will  no  longer  emanate 
from  simple  sympathy,  and  the  system  is  destroyed. 
When  I  see  a  man  moved  by  some  affection,  I  feel 
for  him,  according  to  Smith,  an  instinctive  sympathy, 
by  which,  and  by  which  alone,  I  judge  of  his  conduct ; 
intellect  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  forming  of  this 
decision.  By  the  impartiality  of  the  spectator,  then, 
cannot  be  meant  the  impartiality  of  reason,  for  this 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  moral  estimation  of  the 
act.  We  are  compelled,  therefore,  to  understand  the 
expression  as  applying  solely  to  sympathy.  And  here 
the  difficulty  presents  itself —  How  shall  we  compre- 
hend this  expression  ?  What  interpretation  shall  we 
put  upon  the  word  ?  What  means  the  impartiality 
of  an  instinct  ?  We  speak  of  a  man  as  impartial  , 
but  when  is  he  so?  Only  when  he  exercises  judg- 
ment. Suppose  the  faculty  of  judgment  suppressed, 
and  the  word  means  nothing.  Impartiality  is  possible 
only  where  there  is  judgment ;  and  when  we  say  that 
judgment  is  impartial,  our  idea  is  precisely  this  —  that 
it  is  influenced  by  no  passion.  Why  can  I  not  be 
impartial  in  regard  to  a  friend  ?  Because  sympathy 
biases  my  judgment  in  his  favor.  And  I  cannot  be 
impartial  in  regard  to  an  enemy,  for  an  opposite 
reason.  It  becomes  all  the  more  difficult  to  compre- 


132  JOUFFROY. 

hend  what  is  meant  by  the  impartiality  of  sympathy, 
because,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  words,  it  is 
the  absence  of  sympathy  that  constitutes  impartiality. 
And  let  no  one  suppose  that  this  objection  consists 
in  a  mere  play  upon  words ;  this  error  in  expression 
actually  betrays  the  error  of  the  principle.  Undoubt- 
edly we  may  make  instinct  our  rule  of  moral  judgment ; 
but  we  cannot,  without  abjuring  good  sense,  adopt, 
as  the  law  for  conduct,  the  impulses  of  any  thing  so. 
essentially  capricious;  we  must  make  choice,  then, 
among  these  impulses,  and  admit  the  influence  of 
some,  while  we  reject  that  of  others ;  in  other  words, 
we  are  compelled  to  regulate  this  rule.  And  it  is  in 
this  attempt  that  we  are  led  to  conceive  this  idea 
of  the  impartiality  of  instinct,  or  some  other  similar 
idea,  such  as  cannot  be  correctly  expressed,  for  the 
reason  that  it  seeks  to  represent  what  has  really  no 
existence.  It  is  because  this  system  does  violence 
to  the  nature  of  things,  that  it  cannot  be  described 
without  doing  violence  to  language. 

But  let  us  overlook  this  objection,  and  pass  to  an 
examination  of  Smith's  rule  for  moral  estimates.  And 
I  assert  that  this  rule  is  one  which  is  peculiarly  fluc- 
tuating and  unsettled,  and,  consequently,  that  it  can 
be  determined  only  with  great  difficulty. 

Let  me  suppose  myself  in  the  presence  of  a  great 
number  of  persons  of  different  ages,  sexes,  and  pro- 
fessions; and,  to  fulfil  as  far  as  possible  the  condition 
of  impartiality  required,  let  me  suppose,  in  addition, 
that  I  am  a  perfect  stranger  to  them,  and  that  there 
is  no  connection  whatever  between  us,  of  friendship, 
of  interest,  or  of  any  other  kind;  and  now  let  me 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  133 

manifest,  in  the  presence  of  these  spectators,  some 
emotion ;  what  will  be  the  consequence  ?  These 
various  sensibilities  will  sympathize  with  me  in  very 
different  degrees.  Lively  sensibilities  will  partake  viv- 
idly of  my  emotions  —  cold  ones  but  fcebly  ;  minds 
preoccupied  will  feel  nothing,  while  others,  which  are 
attentive,  may  be  profoundly  touched ;  between  the 
emotions  of  the  men  and  women,  of  the  young  and 
old,  of  the  man  of  the  world  and  the  peasant,  of  the 
merchant  and  the  soldier,  of  one  who  has  a  sad  and 
another  a  joyous  temperament,  there  will  inevitably  be 
infinite  shades  of  difference  ;  in  a  word,  circumstances 
whose  number  cannot  be  counted,  nor  whose  influence 
estimated,  will  modify  the  sympathy  which  my  emo- 
tion excites.  Which  of  these  kinds  of  sympathy  shall 
be  my  rule,  which  shall  I  select  as  a  test  of  the 
propriety  or  impropriety  of  my  feeling?  Shall  I  adopt 
the  sympathy  of  this  or  that  particular  person  ?  or 
shall  I  take  the  mean  of  all  the  sympathies  ?  But 
why  should  I  adopt  this  mean  ?  or  how  shall  I  de- 
termine what  it  is,  among  so  many  which  are  un- 
known and  not  to  be  appreciated  1  And  how,  then, 
can  I  determine,  according  to  the  doctrine  of  Smith, 
whether  my  emotion  is  proper  or  improper  ? 

But  now  let  me  change  my  position ;  let  me  in 
turn  become  spectator  of  another's  emotions.  This 
morning,  I  should  have  entered  into  his  feelings  more 
than  I  do  now ;  this  evening  I  shall  share  them  less ; 
if  I  am  hungry,  I  shall  be  indifferent ;  if  I  have 
dined,  I  shall  be  complaisant;  my  mind  is  full,  per- 
haps, of  philosophy,  or  of  business,  and  I  pay  no 
heed ;  I  am  in  an  imaginative  mood,  and  I  am 

VOL.    II.  M 


134  JOUFFROY. 

affected  even  to  tears.  Which,  now,  of  these  feelings 
of  sympathy,  shall  I  select  for  my  test  of  moral 
appreciation  1  Even  .should  I  be  able  to  fix  upon 
my  rule,  yet  age,  sickness,  a  thousand  circumstances, 
may  enter  in  to  make  me  change  my  rule,  and  plunge 
me  in  uncertainty.  And  if  I,  a  single  spectator, 
and  distinctly  conscious  of  rny  own  emotions,  find  it 
difficult,  in  my  judgments  of  others,  to  decide  upon 
the  rule  of  impartial  sympathy  in  my  mind,  how  shall 
I,  when  called  to  judge  myself,  select  such  a  rule 
from  the  infinitely  diverse,  impartial  sympathies,  not 
only  of  society  around  me,  but,  as  Smith  demands, 
of  the  human  race  at  large?  How  can  you  expect 
that  I  should  identify  myself  with  the  men  of  all 
places  and  times,  and  draw  from  feelings  so  various 
and  mutable,  and  which  often  I  cannot  know,  that 
rule  of  the  mean  of  sympathies  needed  for  the  moral 
appreciation  of  my  own  sentiments  and  acts?  As- 
suredly, to  subject  us  to  such  conditions  in  acquiring 
a  rule  by  which  to  judge  and  act,  is  to  make 
morality  impossible. 

But  yet  more  is  to  be  said,  gentlemen:  not  only 
is  the  rule  a  mutable  one,  and,  therefore,  hard  to 
be  determined,  but,  even  supposing  it  known  'and 
fixed,  it  is  still,  as  even  Smith  himself  acknowledges, 
inadequate;  for,  as  I  have  already  said  in  my  expo- 
sition of  the  system,  cases  will  and  must  arise,  in 
which  an  upright  man  will  feel  that  in  acting  in  a 
certain  way  he  does  right,  and  yet  that,  far  from 
obtaining  the  sympathy  of  his  fellow-beings,  his  con- 
duct will  excite  their  antipathy.  If  he  is  acting  in 
some  public  capacity,  he  may,  indeed,  hope  to  receive 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  135 

from  the  justice  of  history  the  sympathy  of  after  ages : 
but,  as  to  his  contemporaries,  he  is  sure  of  losing  the 
sympathy,  not  only  of  a  few  persons,  but  of  his 
whole  nation.  Smith  has  the  candor  to  acknowledge 
that  such  cases  may  arise,  and  the  fairness  to  confess 
that  a  man  is  then  bound  to  follow  the  right  and  de- 
spise public  opinion.  But  how  can  he  do  this  without 
denying  his  system,  and  abjuring  his  rule  of  moral 
appreciation  1  Much  as  we  may  admire  the  ingenuity 
with  which  he  has  attempted  to  escape  from  this 
dilemma,  it  is  impossible  not  ^o  see  that  his  efforts 
are  fruitless,  and  that  his  theory  is  wrecked  upon  this 
difficulty.  You  shall  judge. 

I  have  already  told  you,  that  when  we  are  deliber- 
ating as  to  the  conduct  which  it  is  right,  under  certain 
circumstances,  to  pursue,  we  have,  in  the  opinion 
of  Smith,  but  one  means  of  deciding ;  and  that  is,  to 
place  ourselves  in  the  situation  of  an  impartial  spec- 
tator, and  allow  our  minds  to  be  affected  with  his 
emotions ;  for  his  sentiment  is  not  merely  the  true 
test,  but  it  is  the  only  one  by  which  we  can  estimate 
our  acts.  Now,  who  is  this  impartial  spectator  ?  Is 
it  John  or  Peter  1  No !  but  an  abstract  spectator, 
who  has  neither  the  prejudices  of  the  one  nor  the 
weaknesses  of  the  other,  and  who  sees  correctly  and 
soundly,  precisely  because  he  is  abstract.  It  is  in 
the  presence  of  this  abstract  spectator,  who  is  another 
me,  separate  from  the  impassioned  me,  and  its  judge, 
that,  in  my  deepest  consciousness,  I  deliberate,  decide, 
and  act.  Not  only  is  this  spectator  no  particular  man, 
but  he  does  not  even  represent  any  portion  of  society 
—  no  age  nor  sex,  no  village  nor  city,  no  nation  nor 


136  JOUFFROY. 

era;  he  represents  humanity  —  he  represents  God. 
The  sentiments  of  this  secret  witness,  whose  impar- 
tiality is  so  perfect,  give  us  the  true  principle  of  moral 
estimation,  and  the  true  rule  for  conduct. 

Assuredly,  gentlemen,  this  would  be  giving  a  most 
ingenious  turn  to  his  principle,  were  it  nothing  more; 
but  it  is,  in  fact,  doing  something  very  different ;  it  is 
introducing  an  entirely  new  view,  into  which  Smith 
has  unconsciously  entered,  without  perceiving  that  he 
was  not  led  into  it  by  setting  out  from  his  own  prin- 
ciple, and  that  he  cannot  return  from  it  to  his  princi- 
ple again. 

How,  according  to  Smith's  system,  do  I  become 
acquainted  with  the  moral  worth  of  actions  ?  By  a 
knowledge  of  the  sentiments  of  others ;  their  approba- 
tion is  my  rule ;  and,  as  this  depends  upon  their  sym- 
pathy, their  sympathy  is  my  rule  ;  to  form  a  judgment, 
therefore,  I  must  place  myself  in  their  situation,  and 
strive  to  enter  into  their  feelings ;  and  so  truly  is  this, 
according  to  Smith,  the  only  rule  for  estimating  sen- 
timents and  acts,  that  if  I  was  alone  in  the  world,  or 
cast  away  on  a  desert  island,  I  could  not  pass  judg- 
ment upon  my  acts  or  sentiments,  and  they  would 
have  no  moral  character  in  my  eyes.  Such,  unques- 
tionably, is  the  doctrine  of  Smith  ;  and  all  his  illus- 
trations confirm  it.  Now,  what  is  it  that  I  do,  when, 
for  the  sentiments  of  actual  spectators,  I  substitute 
those  of  an  abstract  spectator  ?  Most  evidently,  gen- 
tlemen, I  not  only  abandon  the  rule  of  sympathy,  and 
adopt  another  in  its  place,  but  I  even  deny  this  rule, 
and  pronounce  it  false,  and  condemn  it ;  for  this 
abstract  spectator  does  not  exist,  and  never  existed  ; 


THE    SENTIMENTAL     SYSTEM.  SMITH.  137 

and  his  sentiments,  therefore,  have  no  reality,  and  are 
wholly  fictitious.  It  is  no  longer  by  the  sentiments 
of  others  that  I  judge,  but  by  my  own.  The  senti- 
ments of  others  I  reject  wholly,  and  prefer  my  own ; 
this  abstract  spectator  is  one  of  my  own  creation  ; 
he  has  no  existence  in  the  world  without ;  he  is 
neither  a  real  individual,  nor  a  combination  of  real 
individuals ;  he  is  an  emanation  from  my  own  senti- 
ments. I  judge,  then,  by  my  own  sentiments,  which, 
according  to  this  system,  are  incapable  of  judgment, 
the  sentiments  of  others,  which,  as  it  teaches,  are  the 
only  judge ;  I  reverse  the  system  so  far  as  it  can  be 
reversed ;  I  make  supreme  the  rule  which  it  pro- 
nounces false,  and  reject  the  rule  which  it  approves ; 
I  enter  into  another  world  and  another  system  —  a 
world  and  system  where  sympathy  is  no  longer  re- 
garded, and  where  the  sentiments  of  others,  so  far 
from  being  the  test  for  mine,  are  judged  by  mine. 

In  this  fiction  of  an  impartial  spectator,  then,  Smith 
recognizes  implicitly  that  there  is  a  law,  superior 
to  that  of  sympathy ;  for,  by  the  sentiments  of  this 
abstract  spectator,  which  sympathy  did  not  commu- 
nicate, and  which  can  only  be  my  own,  I  form  moral 
estimates  of  the  sympathies  of  other  beings,  and  con- 
demn them,  and  look  only  to  those  eternal  laws  of 
right  and  wrong  which  conscience  and  reason  re- 
veal. 

In  truth,  gentlemen,  it  is  quite  plain  that  this  ab- 
stract spectator,  imagined  by  Smith,  is  nothing  else 
than  reason,  judging,  in  tke  name  of  order,  and  of  the 
immutable  nature  of  things,  the  mutable  and  blind 
decisions  of  men.  It  is  a  consciousness  of  the  reality 


138 


JOUFFROY. 


of  this  supreme  faculty,  that  embarrasses  Smith  in  the 
exposition  of  his  system ;  and  he  has  pictured  to 
himself  this  faculty,  which  judges  of  our  own  and 
others7  acts,  and  weighs,  impartially,  the  decisions 
of  others'  sympathy  for  us,  and  our  sympathy  for 
them,  under  the  image  of  an  abstract  spectator,  be- 
cause, of  all  symbols  by  which  conscience  can  be 
represented,  this  is  the  one  which  seems  most  in 
harmony  with  his  fundamental  hypothesis,  that  we  can 
judge  of  our  own  actions  only  by  entering  into  the 
feelings  of  others  towards  us.  Instead  of  the  words 
conscience,  or  reason ,  therefore,  he  makes  use  of  the 
expression  abstract  spectator;  in  his  strong  prepos- 
session in  favor  of  his  system,  he  believes  that  it  is 
by  representing  to  ourselves  the  sentiments  of  this 
imaginary  being,  that  we  are  able  to  pass  judgment 
upon  our  acts ;  and  he  is  quite  unaware,  that,  in  so 
doing,  he  contradicts  his  assertion  that  a  solitary  man 
would  form  no  moral  estimates;  for,  in  the  most 
desert  island,  this  abstract  spectator  would  still  be 
our  companion,  and  enable  us  to  judge  of  our  acts, 
our  sentiments,  ourselves. 

Thus  have  I  shown,  as  I  believe,  that  the  rule  of 
sympathy  is  one  which  it  is  difficult  to  comprehend  ; 
that  it  is  mutable;  and,  lastly,  that  it  is  an  inadequate 
one.  And  now  I  will  submit  it  to  a  yet  severer  test : 
let  it  be  granted,  for  the  moment,  that  it  is  clear, 
fixed,  and  applicable  to  every  case;  are  these  such 
qualities  as  are  sufficient  to  secure  for  it  our  respect? 
By  no  means.  These  merits  must  pass  for  nothing, 
if  it  is  not  the  real  rule  —  the  true  rule  of  moral 
judgments.  For  what  is  it  that  we  seek  in  ethical 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  139 

science  ?  Not  imaginary  rules,  which  may  explain 
our  moral  judgments,  but  those  real  rules  which  do 
actually  determine  them.  Consciousness  alone  can 
decide  this  point.  Smith  has  pretended  to  describe 
the  manner  by  which  we  estimate  our  own  and  others' 
acts,  and  consciousness  must  decide  whether  this  is 
the  way  in  which  we  really  judge.  To  consciousness, 
then,  let  us  appeal. 

Are  we  conscious,  then,  when  we  are  to  judge 
of  the  acts  of  others,  that  we  first  give  loose  to  our 
sensibility,  and  observe  how  far  it  sympathizes  with 
the  sentiments  by  which  they  are  animated,  and  then 
determine,  from  the  nature  and  degree  of  our  own 
emotions,  taken  as  a  rule,  what  judgments  we  shall 
pass  ?  For  my  part,  gentlemen,  I  say,  that,  so  far 
from  being  conscious  of  such  a  process  of  mind, 
we  are  even  conscious  of  an  opposite  one.  When 
I  wish  to  judge  impartially  of  the  conduct  of  my 
fellow-beings,  I  make  it  my  first  care,  if  I  feel  that 
it  excites  me,  to  stifle  my  emotions  and  forget  them. 
And  why  ?  Because  thus  I  secure  the  impartiality 
of  my  judgment.  Singular  proceeding  indeed,  if  it 
is  my  sensibility  which  should  be  the  judge!  It  is 
not  at  the  moment  when  I  behold  some  exhibition 
of  strong  passion,  that  I  feel  most  capable  of  appre- 
ciating its  propriety  or  justice ;  for  then  my  sensibility 
overpowers  me;  emotions  of  sympathy  or  antipathy 
possess  my  mind ;  and  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  the 
feeling  disturbs  my  judgment,  and  destroys  its  proper 
freedom  and  clearness  of  view.  And  why  should  it 
not  be  so  in  regard  to  moral  judgments,  when  we 
know  that  it  is  in  regard  to  judgments  of  taste  1 


140  JOUFFROY. 

When  an  accomplished  reader  recites  a  piece  of 
poetry,  if  I  wish  to  judge  of  its  beauty,  I  must  not 
yield  to  the  impression  produced  by  the  reading,  or 
I  shall  be  a  prey  to  the  emotion  which  the  skilful 
declamation  has  awakened;  I  must  await  the  publica- 
tion of  the  piece,  and  peruse  it  coolly ;  and  then  shall 
I  be  competent  to  form  an  impartial  judgment.  Far, 
then,  from  being  conscious  of  the  facts  described  by 
Smith,  when  I  judge  of  the  acts  of  my  fellow-beings, 
I  have  a  distinct  consciousness  of  quite  opposite  facts, 
which  make  known  a  wholly  different  rule  of  moral 
appreciation. 

His  description  is  equally  wanting  in  fidelity,  in 
relation  to  judgments  on  our  own  acts;  although, 
in  this  case,  I  do  recognize  a  phenomenon  which 
may  explain,  though  it  cannot  justify,  his  opinion. 
When  I  am  animated  with  some  emotion,  and  desire, 
before  yielding  to  its  influence,  to  determine  its  char- 
acter, I  often  distrust  my  own  judgment;  and,  if  the 
emotion  is  very  strong,  I  feel  distinctly  that  my  judg- 
ment is  not  in  a  condition  to  be  impartial.  It  is 
fully  capable  in  itself  of  appreciating  the  moral  good 
or  evil  of  an  affection,  and  of  distinguishing  a  right 
from  a  wrong  action ;  this  I  am  perfectly  aware  of, 
and  am  not  anxious  on  that  account ;  my  only  fear 
is,  that,  in  the  present  instance,  it  is  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  be  impartial.  What  shall  I  do,  then?  I 
appeal  to  the  sentiments  of  other  men ;  I  place 
myself  in  the  situation  of  an  indifferent  person,  and 
strive  to  imagine  what  his  opinion  would  be  of  the 
emotion  which  I  experience,  and  the  act  to  which 
it  impels  me.  But  why  this  appeal  to  the  sentiments 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  141 

•>f  a  fellow-being,  and  this  effort  to  enter  into  them  ? 
[t  is  because  I  believe  that,  as  regards  this  emotion 
and  act,  the  judgment  of  another  is  freer  than  mine 
from  the  influence  of  such  sentiments  as  may  prevent 
a  correct  moral  estimate.  It  is  from  a  reo-ard  to 

o 

that  impartiality  of  which  his  judgment  is  capable, 
while  mine  is  not,  that  I  wish  to  consult  his  opinion ; 
and  not  at  all  because  I  consider  his  sympathy  as 
the  true  and  only  rule  of  the  morality  of  my  affections 
and  conduct, ;  for  I  feel,  all  the  while,  that  this  rule, 
which  I  believe  him  to  possess,  exists  also  in  my  own 
mind,  and  it  is  not  this,  therefore,  which  I  seek  ;  I 
seek  only  an  impartial  application  of  this  rule. 

Such,  according  to  my  understanding  of  our  senti- 
ments and  acts,  is  the  only  fact  that  has  any  analogy 
with  Smith's  ideas,  and  from  this,  perhaps,  his  system 
took  its  origin  ;  but  Smith  has  altered  the  real  nature 
of  the  fact,  by  transforming  into  the  rule  of  our 
judgments  of  ourselves  what  is  merely  a  means  of 
controlling  them.  And  the  proof  that  this  recourse 
to  the  sympathy  of  others  is  nothing  more,  is  the 
fact,  that,  in  numerous  cases,  there  is  no  such  re- 
course ;  and  that,  even  when  it  does  take  place,  we 
often  do  not  follow  the  opinions  of  other  men,  but 
prefer  our  own,  as  Smith  himself  acknowledges. 

Consciousness,  therefore,  contradicts  Smith's  system, 
and  does  not  recognize,  in  his  pretended  rule  of 
moral  appreciation,  the  rule  which  actually  dictates 
our  judgments.  It  is  not  true  that  we  seek  in  our 
own  sensibility  the  judgments  which  we  pass  upon 
others;  and  neither  is  it  true  that  we  seek  in  the 
opinions  of  others  the  principle  of  moral  estimation 


142  JOUFFROY. 

for  our  own  sentiments  and  conduct.  As  to  the 
former  point,  the  rules  of  moral  appreciation  are  to 
be  found  in  ourselves;  and,  as  to  the  second,  they 
consist  not  in  emotions  of  sympathy,  but  in  concep- 
tions of  reason.  It  is  true  that  Smith  may  say,  in 
answer,  that  he  recognizes  these  inward  laws,  and 
gives  a  perfectly  clear  explanation  of  their  origin. 
But  consciousness  cannot  confound  the  rules  which 
he  acknowledges  with  those  of  morality,  nor  the 
decisions  of  sympathy,  of  which  they  are  the  general- 
ization, with  the  true  moral  judgments  given  by  reason 
Consciousness  does  not  admit  that  the  true  laws  of 
morality  emanate  from  the  successive  decisions  of  sym- 
pathy upon  the  acts  and  sentiments  of  ourselves  and 
others  reciprocally ;  and  it  perceives  that,  if  there 
is  any  thing  in  the  code  of  sympathy  which  is  more 
than  a  generalization  of  the  opinions  of  those  about 
us,  it  can  still  be  a  rule  of  conduct  for  vain  and 
ambitious  men  only,  but  never  for  a  good  man. 

I  must  ask  your  attention  for  a  moment  longer, 
while  I  examine  Smith's  principle  of  moral  qualifica- 
tion under  another  point  of  view,  and  inquire  what 
is  its  authority. 

The  ethical  philosopher  has  something  more  to  do 
than  to  point  out  a  rule  of  moral  estimation  ;  this 
rule  must  be  shown  also  to  have  a  moral  authority 
over  the  will  —  an  authority  which  is  undeniable,  and 
such  as  can  explain  the  moral  facts  of  human  nature, 
and  the  moral  ideas  which  we  find  in  human  intelli- 
gence ;  and  as  among  these  ideas  are  duty,  right, 
obligation,  all  of  which  imply  the  idea  of  law,  this 
principle  must  have  the  character  of  a  law,  and  impose 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  143 

obligations,  and  thus  give  obedience  the  character, 
not  of  propriety  merely,  but  of  duty.  Let  us  see 
whether  Smith's  principle  fulfils  these  conditions. 

When  I  examine  the  authority  of  Smith's  moral 
rule,  I  find  that  it  represents  only  the  general  law 
of  an  instinct.  In  all  possible  cases,  if  you  generalize 
and  reduce  to  distinct  decisions  what  the  sympathy 
of  an  impartial  spectator  declares,  you  will  have, 
according  to  this  system,  the  laws  of  moral  conduct. 
And  these  moral  laws  have  no  other  authority  than 
that  of  an  instinct  of  sympathy.  What  is  this  instinct 
of  sympathy?  Is  it  our  only  instinct?  No:  it  is 
one  only  of  several.  This  system  elevates,  then,  the 
impulses  of  one  particular  instinct  into  being  the  laws 
of  morality.  But  whence  does  this  instinct  derive 
its  marvellous  power  of  communicating  to  its  impulses 
the  character  of  a  law,  with  all  its  peculiar  authority 
and  supremacy  ?  If  I  ask  Smith,  he  gives  me  no 
reply.  If  I  examine  human  nature,  I  find  no  ex- 
planation of  this  wonderful  prerogative.  I  have  an 
instinct  of  sympathy,  as  I  distinctly  recognize ;  I 
agree  that  this  instinct  is  developed  according  to 
certain  laws;  I  do  not  deny  that  it  influences  my  will 
as  a  motive  ;  but  I  have  a  multitude  of  other  instincts 
also  —  instincts  which  are  purely  personal  —  the  in- 
stinct of  love,  the  instinct  of  imitation,  the  instinct 
of  knowing,  the  instinct  of  acting  —  all  of  which 
are  phenomena  of  a  similar  nature.  Whence  comes, 
then,  the  peculiar  right  and  power  of  sympathy  ? 
Whence  does  it  derive  its  title?  By  what  process 
do  its  impulses  become  rules  by  which  arexto  be 
judged,  approved,  condemned,  the  impulses  of,  all 


144  JOUFFROY. 

other  instincts  ?  and  not  only  these,  but  the  acts  of  all 
our  faculties  —  even  those  of  intellect  and  reason  ? 
If  this  mysterious  privilege  of  sympathy  cannot  be 
explained,  at  least  I  ask  whether  it  is  one  which 
we  feel  and  are  conscious  of —  whether  these  rules 
of  sympathy  do  speak  to  us  with  the  tone  of  com- 
mand—  whether,  in  a  word,  although  ignorant  of  the 
source  of  their  power,  we  are  yet  aware  that  they 
•do  exert  this  right  of  obligation. 

,It  is  wonderful  to  observe,  gentlemen,  by  what 
gradual  substitutions  of  equivalent  expressions,  and 
by  what  insensible  transitions,  Smith  attempts  to 
elevate  the  impulses  of  sympathy  into  the  condition 
of  rules,  and  by  which  he  finally  succeeds  in  com- 
municating to  them  some  appearance  of  this  character. 
We  must  follow  the  series  of  these  ingenious  sophisms, 
if  we  would  comprehend  his  system,  and  lay  bare 
all  its  imperfections. 

Smith's  mode  of  reasoning  is  as  follows:  —  How 
am  I  affected  by  the  exhibition  of  another's  emotions  1 
Sympathy  is  awakened,  and  either  I  participate  in 
them,  or  I  do  not.  When  do  I  approve  a  sentiment? 
When  I  participate  in  it.  Approbation,  then,  is  a 
consequence  of  sympathy  ;  and,  in  all  its  degrees,  is 
only  a  faithful  transcript  of  the  emotions  of  sympathy. 
To  say  that  I  approve  a  sentiment,  is  to  say  that 
I  participate  in  it ;  and  to  say  that  I  participate  in  it, 
is  to  say  that  I  approve  it ;  and  reciprocally  to  say 
that  I  do  not  approve  it,  is  to  say  that  I  do  not 
participate  in  it.  What  can  be  simpler  or  more 
proper  than  to  substitute  the  word  approve,  therefore, 
for  that  of  participate  1  Well,  then,  says  Smith, 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  145 

what  is  morally  good  ?  Is  it  not  that  which  we  ap- 
prove ?  And  what  ought  we  to  do  ?  Surely  that 
which  is  good.  Can  any  thing  be  more  plain,  more 
natural  ?  Will  any  one  deny,  that  to  approve  and  to 
pronounce  good  are  the  same  things,  or  that  that  ought 
to  be  done  which  is  good?  How  plausible  are  such 
propositions !  Observe  now  the  conclusion ;  that 
which  ought  to  be  done  is  precisely  what  impartial 
sympathy  approves;  the  instinctive  emotions  of  sym- 
pathy, therefore,  are  the  laws  of  human  conduct,  and 
the  rules  of  morality ;  such  is  the  strict  consequence 
of  the  preceding  reasonings. 

I  trust  that  you  already  perceive  the  sophistry  of 
such  an  induction  ;  it  consists  in  pronouncing  things 
to  be  equivalent  which  are  not  so.  Let  us  expose, 
successively,  these  false  equations ;  the  system  itself 
must  bear  the  blame. 

To  participate  in  the  sentiment  of  another  being, 
is  simply,  according  to  Smith's  system,  to  feel  an 
emotion  equal  to  that  which  he  experiences  :  the 
phenomenon  is  purely  a  sensible  one.  To  approve 
this  sentiment,  is,  in  the  language  of  ethics,  to  con- 
sider it  proper,  good,  lawful :  this  is  a  purely  intellect- 
ual fact.  Are  these  two  things  identical  ?  'Not  at 
all.  A  judgment  is  a  judgment ;  an  emotion  is  an 
emotion ;  but  an  emotion  is  no  more  a  judgment 
than  a  sensation  is  an  idea.  There  is  no  more  reason 
for  identifying  these  two  things  than  there  is  for 
declaring  them  equal.  Is  the  eni6tion,  then,  of  such 
a  nature,  that,  when  presented  to  the  view  of  reason, 
the  judgment  is  an  immediate  consequence  ?  In  other 
words,  do  I  approve  every  emotion  which  I  feel  tor  be 

VOL.    II.  N 


146  JOUFFROY. 

equal  to  yours?  Whence  comes  the  necessity  of  any 
such  consequence  ?  I  can  see  none,  and  facts  con- 
tradict it.  I  share  a  thousand  emotions,  without  mor- 
ally approving  or  disapproving  them ;  I  condemn 
many  emotions  which  I  share ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  approve  many  things  which  are  neither  emo- 
tions nor  the  result  of  emotions ;  and  I  even  approve 
emotions  which  I  not  only  do  not  participate  in,  but 
which  are  absolutely  displeasing  to  me.  There  is  no 
reason  whatever,  therefore,  for  pronouncing  the  sen- 
sible fact  of  sympathy  to  be  equal  to  the  rational 
fact  of  approbation.  Any  equality  which  there  is 
between  them,  is  only  in  appearance,  and  the  appear- 
ance consists  wholly  in  words.  So  much  for  the  first 
sophism. 

Our  author  proceeds  to  say,  that,  when  I  approve 
an  emotion,  I  feel  it  to  be  good ;  to  which  I  answer, 
This  is  not  the  way  in  which*  the  human  mind  reasons ; 
from  the  goodness  of  the  act  we  are  led  to  approve 
it,  but  not  from  our  approbation  to  pronounce  it 
good.  For  what  is  it  that  merits  approbation  ?  It  is 
that  which  is  good;  but  that  is  not  necessarily  good 
which  is  approved.  Before  we  can  infer  the  goodness 
of  an  act,  as  a  conclusion,  from  the  fact  of  its  being 
approved,  it  must  be  proved  that  the  approbation  is 
merited,  which  is  saying,  in  other  words,  that  it  is 
good ;  this  shows  that  the  approbation  is  a  conse- 
quence of  an  antecedent  perception  of  goodness. 
Smith  reverses  this  order  of  nature,  for  he  makes 
the  approbation  the  sign  and  proof  of  the  goodness. 
Instead  of  the  true  equation  between  that  which  is 
good  and  that  which  merits  approbation,  he  sub- 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  147 

slitutes  a  false  equation  between  that  which  is  ap- 
proved and  that  which  is  good.  This  is  the  second 
sophism. 

Once  possessed  of  the  word  good,  Smith  dashes 
on  with  full  sails,  and  without  difficulty  arrives  at  the 
idea  of  obligation ;  for  what  is  more  evident  to  reason 
than  that  that  which  is  good  ought  to  be  done,  and 
that  which  is  evil  avoided  1  But  what  mean  such 
words  as  these,  in  a  system  which  preserves  nothing 
of  moral  good  but  its  name,  while  it  destroys  the 
reality?  Obligation  is  attached,  not  to  words,  however, 
but  to  things ;  and  the  word,  which  is  but  an  appear- 
ance, can  produce  only  an  apparent  obligation.  Such 
is  the  third  sophism. 

And  now,  gentlemen,  our  conclusion  is,  that,  in 
establishing  as  the  principle  and  rule  of  moral  appro- 
bation the  emotions  of  an  impartial  spectator,  Smith 
has  elevated  into  a  law  of  conduct  a  fact  that  is 
purely  sensible  and  instinctive  —  a  fact  possessing  no 
more  authority  than  every  other  instinctive  and  sen- 
sible fact  —  and,  consequently,  possessing  none  at 
all.  Under  whatever  disguise,  therefore,  this  fact  may 
be  enveloped,  and  through  whatever  ingenious  trans- 
formations it  may  be  made  to  pass,  it  is  still  impos- 
sible to  communicate  to  it  the  character  which  it 
wants :  there  is  not,  therefore,  in  the  system  of  Smith, 
any  such  thing  as  a  moral  law ;  and  it  is  incompetent 
to  explain  our  ideas  of  duty,  of  right,  and  all  other 
such  ideas  as  imply  the  fact  of  obligation  ;  and  if  it 
attempts  to  do  so,  it  must,  necessarily,  fall  into  soph- 
isms, and  come  to  empty  conclusions,  which  vanish 
when  we  approach  to  examine  them. 


148  JOUFFIIOY. 

Thus,  gentlemen,  —  and  with  the  consideration  of 
this  point  I  shall  close  my  lecture,  —  Smith  himself 
is  conscious,  that,  after  all  his  efforts,  his  principle 
of  moral  qualification  is  still  wanting  in  the  character 
of  obligation ;  and  he  has  been  compelled,  therefore, 
to  employ  one  further  mode  of  evasion,  which  it 
is  well  you  should  be  acquainted  with,  if  only  to 
convince  you  of  the  power  of  truth,  and  to  show 
you  what  embarrassment  systematic  minds  must  feel, 
and  to  what  sophistries  the  loftiest  genius  must  de- 
scend, in  its  attempt  to  endue  error  with  a  character 
which  it  cannot  justly  claim. 

It  is  the  strict  consequence  of  the  system  of  Smith, 
that  whatever  others  approve  and  praise  will  appear 
to  me  good,  and  whatever  they  blame  and  disapprove 
will  appear  to  me  bad  ;  and  that  the  rule  of  conduct, 
therefore,  is  to  be  sought  in  the  approbation  and 
praise  of  our  fellow-men. 

Now,  conscience  revolts  instinctively  at  this  idea 
of  finding  a  rule  for  conduct  in  the  opinions  of 
others.  There  are  so  many  occasions  when  the 
opinion  of  the  world  must  be  wrong ;  the  principle 
subjects  our  conduct  to  such  a  dependence  upon  the 
caprices  and  mutations  of  opinion ;  and,  finally,  it 
is  so  often  assigned  as  a  motive  for  conduct,  by  men 
who  are  wholly  governed  by  vanity  or  ambition,  —  that 
a  doctrine  professing  this  principle  is  much  better 
calculated  to  repel  than  attract  us.  Smith  himself, 
indeed,  has  too  much  good  sense  to  allow  himself  to 
believe  or  teach  that  the  desire  of  praise  and  the 
fear  of  censure  is  the  only  motive  for  good  men.^  He 
»s  driven,  therefore,  into  finding  some  means  of  es- 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  149 

caping  from  this  consequence  of  his  system  ;  and  you 
shall  see  how  he  has  attempted  to  do  so. 

We  cannot,  he  says,  desire  to  be  praised,  or  fear 
to  be  blamed,  without  desiring  to  be  the  legitimate 
object  of  praise,  and  fearing  to  be  the  legitimate  object 
of  blame.  The  desire  of  praise  and  the  fear  of 
blame  is  succeeded  by  the  desire  of  being  praise- 
worthy and  the  fear  of  being  blameworthy ;  and 
this  latter  sentiment  soon  becomes,  in  all  sensible 
minds,  infinitely  the  stronger  of  the  two ;  the  other 
remaining  prevalent  only  in  vain  and  frivolous  na- 
tures. 

You  see,  gentlemen,  the  transition  by  which  Smith 
endeavors  to  substitute  for  the  love  of  praise  the  love 
of  that  which  may  merit  it,  and  for  the  fear  of  blame 
the  fear  of  that  which  may  deserve  it.  If  the  transi- 
tion was  legitimate,  the  true  end  and  the  true  rule 
for  good  men  would  be  found ;  for  what  we  should 
seek  or  shun  is  not  the  praise  and  blame,  which  the 
world  so  blindly  distributes,  but  the  qualities  which 
make  us  worthy  to  receive  them ;  and  Smith,  being  a 
good  man,  feels  and  allows  it.  But  he  does  so  by 
availing  himself  of  the  most  sophistical  and  false 
equivalent  expressions. 

We  can  comprehend,  as  I  readily  acknowledge, 
that  the  desire  of  praise  may  create  a  desire  of  being 
the  object  of  praise  ;  but  why  ?  It  is  because  these 
two  desires  are  really  only  different  forms  of  the 
sam  2  desire ;  to  love  praise  and  to  love  to  be  its 
object  are  the  same  thing.  The  motive  of  the 'good 
man  is  not  to  be  found  in  either  one  or  the  other  ; 
the  motive  of  the  good  man  is  the  desire  of  being 

N2 


150  JOUFFROY. 

the  legitimate  object  of  praise,  whether  he  obtains 
it  or  not.  Between  this  and  the  desire  of  praise 
there  is  as  wide  a  difference  as  possible ;  for,  to  have 
the  latter,  we  need  only  to  know  what  praise  is,  and 
we  can  gratify  it  by  performing,  in  any  case,  the  acts 
which  are  necessary  to  obtain  it ;  while,  to  have  the 
former,  we  must  know  what  conditions  are  necessary 
to  make  us  legitimate  objects  of  praise ;  and,  to 
gratify  it,  we  must  fulfil  these  conditions.  Now,  the 
system  of  sympathy  cannot  make  us  acquainted  with 
these  conditions,  because  it  has  no  other  sign  or 
measure  of  what  is  worthy  and  good,  than  the  praise 
itself.  The  desire  of  being  the  legitimate  object  of 
praise  is  impossible,  then,  in  such  a  system ;  and 
Smith  really  admits  a  new  principle  of  moral  appre- 
ciation, perfectly  distinct  from  that  which  sympathy 
gives,  and  which  is  the  only  one  that  it  can  give, 
when  he  substitutes  for  the  desire  of  praise  the 
desire  of  being  worthy  of  it.  He  saves  his  system 
from  absurdity  only  by  abandoning  its  principle,  and 
his  pretended  equation  of  the  desire  of  praise  and 
the  desire  of  deserving  it  is  only  a  sophism. 

And  now  let  me  recapitulate  what  has  been  said 
in  this  lecture.  Smith's  rule  for  moral  judgment  is 
one,  then,  which,  in  my  opinion,  it  is  difficult  to 
comprehend ;  supposing  it  to  be  comprehended,  it 
is  so  fluctuating  a  one  that  we  cannot  settle  it ;  even 
if  it  were  settled,  it  would  yet  be  inadequate,  because 
there  are  cases  to  which  it  does  not  apply  ;  but  allow- 
ing that  it  is  adequate,  it  is  not  the  true  rule  which 
we  are  conscious  of  obeying ;  and  this  last  idea  is 
confirmed  by  the  fact  that  it  has  no  authority  and 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  151 

no  character  of  a  law,    and  thus  cannot  explain   the 
moral  facts  and  ideas  of  human   nature. 

Such  are  the  observations  which  I  have  felt  bound 
to  submit  to  your  attention,  in  relation  to  the  answer 
given  by  the  system  of  sympathy  to  the  first  question 
proposed  as  a  test.  They  have  led  me  so  far.  that 
I  am  obliged  to  postpone  until  the  next  lecture  a 
consideration  of  its  answers  to  the  other  two  ques- 
tions. This  is  giving  a  great  deal  of  time  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  a  particular  system,  to  be  sure;  but  you 
will  find  the  criticism  so  interesting,  I  trust,  as  not 
to  complain  of  its  length.  And,  in  my  view,  the 
remarks  suggested  by  Smith's  system  extend  to  all 
others  which  seek  in  instinct  for  the  laws  of  morality; 
and  I  feel,  therefore,  that  time  thus  employed  is  really 
gained,  not  lost 


152  JOUFFROY. 


LECTURE    XVIII 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED 

GENTLEMEN, 

IN  my  last  lecture,  I  examined  Smith's  sys- 
tem, for  the  purpose  of  determining  what  answer  it 
gives  to  the  first  of  the  three  questions,  which  every 
ethical  system  is  bound  to  solve ;  and  I  described  and 
discussed  this  answer.  I  proceed  to-day  to  test  this 
system  by  the  two  remaining  questions.,  and  to  criticise 
the  solution  of  them. 

The  first  of  these  two  questions  is  this :  What  is  the 
motive  to  which  we  yield  when  we  act  right?  Let 
us  first  inquire,  then,  how  Smith  answers  it ;  and, 
having  determined  the  motive  to  which  he  ascribes 
the  legitimate  decisions  of  will,  let  us  examine  its 
authority,  and  see  how  far  it  explains  our  moral 
ideas. 

We  act  well,  according  to  any  system,  when  we 
practise  the  different  virtues  which  it  recognizes.  By 
inquiring,  then,  what  Smith  considers  the  principal 
virtues,  and  seeking  to  know  the  motive  that  impels 
us  to  perform  them,  we  shall  determine  the  motive 
to  which  we  yield  in  doing  right,  according  to  the 
doctrine  of  sympathy. 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  153 

You  know  that,  in  Smith's  opinion,  we  judge  of 
acts  by  the  affections  which  lead  to  them;  and  that 
we  judge  of  the  affections  themselves  under  a  double 
point  of  view  ;  first,  in  relation  to  the  object  calling 
them  forth,  in  which  case  they  are  pronounced  proper 
or  improper ;  and  next,  in  relation  to  their  tendency, 
in  which  they  are  considered  as  having  merit  or  demerit. 
Propriety  and  merit  are  the  two  moral  qualities,  of 
which  affections,  arid  consequently  actions,  are  sus- 
ceptible ;  such,  in  other  words,  are  the  two  elements 
of  moral  good. 

To  the  first  of  these  two  qualities  of  affections 
correspond,  as  Smith  teaches,  two  virtues.  The  effort 
to  restrain  within  proper  limits  the  manifestation  of 
our  affections,  constitutes  the  first  of  them,  which  is 
self-command,  the  source  of  all  honorable  virtues. 
The  opposite  effort  of  elevating  our  sympathetic  emo- 
tions as  nearly  as  possible  to  a  level  with  the  original 
affections  of  other  persons  constitutes  the  second, 
which  is  benevolence,  the  source  of  all  amiable  vh> 
tues.  Both  have  a  common  end,  which  is  a  harmony 
of  affection.  In  tempering  the  violence  of  our  original 
affections  in  the  first  instance,  and  elevating  the  tone 
of  our  sympathetic  affections  in  the  second,  we  seek 
the  same  result,  which  is  to  bring  our  sensibility  into 
unison  with  that  of  our  fellow-beings ;  in  both  cases, 
we  anticipate  their  emotions,  and,  in  this  mutual 
drawing  near  of  affection,  meet  them  half-way.  Self 
command  and  benevolence — such  are  the  two  vii 
tues,  by  the  practice  of  which,  in  our  double  capacity 
of  spectator  and  actor,  we  impress  upon  our  affections 
und  acts  the  character  of  propriety,  and  realize  th^ 


154  JOUFFROY. 

greatest  possible  degree  of  harmony  between  the  sen- 
timents of  our  fellow-beings  and  our  own. 

To  the  second  moral  quality  of  affections,  merit, 
two  virtues  also  belong  — charity  and  justice.  The 
repressing  of  all  affections  which  could  produce  the 
ill  of  others,  indignation  alone  excepted,  constitutes 
justice ;  the  development  of  affections  which  tend 
to  increase  the  good  of  others,  constitutes  charity. 
Charity  is  the  source  of  all  meritorious  virtues ;  justice 
of  all  estimable  ones;  for,  as  the  only  end  of  justice 
is  to  prevent  wrong,  it  cannot  produce  merit,  while 
charity,  by  multiplying  good,  makes  us  the  proper 
object  of  the  gratitude  of  others,  and,  consequently, 
meritorious. 

Such,  gentlemen,  according  to  Smith,  are  the  four 
cardinal  virtues,  into  which  all  others  may  be  re- 
solved. From  the  practice  of  these  four  virtues, 
results,  as  this  philosopher  teaches,  all  the  morality 
of  human  conduct.  And  now,  let  us  inquire,  to  what 
motive  we,  in  his  opinion,  yield,  in  practising  these 
several  virtues. 

Virtuous  acts,  Smith  says,  are  sometimes  instinctive, 
sometimes  reasonable.  They  are  instinctive  when 
they  spring  from  the  direct  impulse  of  sympathy  ; 
they  are  reasonable  when  they  flow  from  the  rules, 
which,  as  we  have  seen,  are  the  generalizations  of 
these  impulses.  Let  us  consider  these  cases  sep- 
arately. 

To  what  motive  do  w*  yield,  when  we  confine, 
within  the  bounds  of  propriety,  the  expression  of  an 
original  affection,  and  when  we  elevate  our  sym- 
pathetic emotions  to  a  level  with  the  affection  of 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  155 

another  ?  To  the  instinct  of  sympathy,  answers 
Smith ;  that  is  to  say,  to  the  desire  which  every 
human  being  feels  of  harmonizing,  in  his  affections, 
sentiments,  and  dispositions,  with  those  of  his  fellow- 
beings.  Sympathy  is  delightful  to  him  who  expe- 
riences it,  and  to  him  who  is  its  object ;  we  are 
instinctively  impelled  to  give  and  to  seek  it ;  and 
from  this  results  the  instinctive  effort  which  consti- 
tutes self-command  on  the  one  side,  and  benevolence 
on  the  other. 

We  yield  to  the  same  motive,  says  Smith,  in  the 
instinctive  exercise  of  justice  and  of  charity ;  but, 
in  this  case,  it  assumes  a  peculiar  form.  When  I  am 
charitable,  I  seek  not  so  much  the  sympathy  of  others 
as  their  gratitude ;  and  when  I  am  just,  I  seek  rather 
to  avoid  their  resentment  than  their  antipathy.  But 
is  not  gratitude  the  strongest  sympathy,  and  resent- 
ment the  strongest  antipathy?  In  seeking  gratitude 
and  avoiding  resentment,  then,  we  really  are  only 
striving  to  gain,  and  dreading  to  lose,  their  sympathy. 
The  spontaneous  practice  of  charity  and  of  justice 
is  determined,  therefore,  by  the  same  motive  which 
produces  the  other  two  virtues ;  that  is  to  say,  by 
the  sympathetic  instinct,  which  impels  us  to  seek 
a  harmony  between  our  own  sentiments  arid  those 
of  our  fellow-beings.  The  practice  of  all  virtue, 
then,  emanates  from  this  one  motive. 

You  will  please  to  remark  one  thing,  gentlemen  ; 
which  is,  that,  according  to  Smith,  this  motive  is  an 
instinct,  and  not  a  result  of  calculation.  We  can 
desire  the  love,  benevolence,  and  esteem  of  our  kind, 
from  a  prospect  of  the  agreeable  or  useful  conse- 


156  JOUFFROY. 

quences  of  such  sentiments.  Smith  denies,  however, 
that  it  is  from  such  considerations  that  sympathy 
makes  us  desire  them.  Sympathy  seeks  them,  Smith 
declares,  for  their  own  sake,  because  they  are  its 
proper  objects,  as  food  is  the  object  of  hunger.  In 
adopting  the  sympathetic  instinct  as  the  motive  of 
virtue,  Smith  thinks,  therefore,  that  he  refers  virtue 
to  a  disinterested  motive ;  and  it  is  thus  that  he 
pretends  to  establish  the  fact  of  disinterestedness  in 
human  nature.  Without  doubt,  Smith  has  good  rea- 
sons for  saying  that  the  sympathetic  instinct  is  not 
interested  ;  but  whether  he  is  justified,  therefore,  in 
calling  the  volitions  produced  by  it  disinterested,  and 
in  finding  in  them  the  type  of  true  disinterestedness, 
is  an  altogether  different  question,  to  be  considered 
hereafter. 

When,  instead  of  being  instinctive,  the  practice 
of  these  virtues  is  reasonable,  to  what  motive  do  we 
yield,  in  the  opinion  of  Smith?  To  the  authority 
of  rules.  Whence  comes  the  authority  of  these  rules  ? 
From  the  fact  that  they  represent  the  conduct  by 
which  we  may  merit  the  sympathy  of  our  fellow- 
beings,  and  avoid  their  antipathy.  These  rules  are 
the  generalization  of  particular  judgments  of  the 
sympathetic  instinct;  their  only  merit  in  our  eyes, 
and  sole  title  to  obedience,  is,  that  they  indicate 
the  true  course  of  action  to  be  pursued  in  the  satis- 
faction of  our  desire  for  sympathy.  This  desire, 
therefore,  is  the  true  motive  of  obedience  to  these 
rules.  And  it  is  to  this  we  yield  in  the  reasonable, 
as  in  the  instinctive,  practice  of  virtue. 

The   result  to  which  we  come,  then,   is,  that  the 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  157 

instinctive  desire  of  sympathy  is  the  motive  of  all 
virtue,  and,  consequently,  of  all  right  conduct  —  a 
motive  that  influences  the  will  sometimes  directly, 
sometimes  indirectly,  by  rules,  but  always  exclusive 
of  other  motives.  Not  only  is  this  the  result  naturally 
given  by  the  principle  of  sympathy,  but  I  now  say, 
in  addition,  that  this  result  is  not  altered  by  the  two 
expedients  which,  as  I  showed  in  my  last  lecture, 
Smith  has  employed  to  give  to  his  principle  an  extent 
to  which  it  has  no  claim,  and  to  deduce  from  it 
consequences  which  have  no  connection  with  it.  A 
few  words  will  suffice  to  show  that  this  is  true. 

The  first  of  these  expedients  is  the  notion  of  an 
abstract  spectator.  This  is  the  means  by  which  Smith 
hopes  to  prove  that  sympathy  is  not  limited  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  conditions  necessary  for  obtaining  the 
sympathy  of  our  countrymen  and  contemporaries,  but 
that  it  is  competent  to  make  known  the  conditions 
upon  which  we  may  merit  the  sympathy  of  the  human 
race,  of  present  and  of  future  generations,  of  men 
enlightened  with  perfect  wisdom  and  reason.  That 
this  hope  is  futile,  and  that  it  is  impossible  to  deduce 
logically  such  infallible  moral  judgments  from  any 
generalization  of  particular  estimates  of  instinctive 
sympathy,  I  have,  as  I  think,  unanswerably  demon- 
strated in  my  last  lecture.  But,  whether  the  instinct 
of  sympathy  has  a  wider  or  a  narrower  range,  Smith's 
idea  as  to  the  motive  of  virtue  remains  unchanged  • 
either  he  believes  that  the  conditions  for  obtaining 
the  sympathy  of  the  human  race  are  made  known 
by  the  instinct  of  sympathy,  or  that  they  are  not. 
In  the  first  case;  he  is  consistent  in  his  belief  that 

VOL    II.  O 


158  JOUFFROY. 

the  motive  of  our  volitions  in  fulfilling  these  con- 
ditions is  the  desire  of  sympathy ;  in  the  second, 
he  manifests  a  consciousness  that  his  system  is  false, 
and  that  it  is  not  adequate  to  explain  the  rules  of 
morality;  and  then  it  is  unimportant  to  inquire  what 
the  motive  is  to  which  he  attributes  our  obedience ; 
for  it  is  one  foreign  to  the  system  of  sympathy,  and 
it  is  only  the  motive  to  virtue  presented  by  this  system 
that  we  seek. 

The  same  must  be  said  of  Smith's  second  expedient, 
by  which  he  endeavors  to  show  that  the  love  of  praise, 
directly  emanating -from  the  instinct  of  sympathy,  im- 
mediately begets  the  desire  of  being  praiseworthy ; 
which  desire  no  sooner  becomes  supreme,  than  we 
endeavor  to  act  in  such  a  way  as  may  make  us  the 
legitimate  objects  of  approval,  even  should  this  con- 
duct awaken  their  displeasure.  Smith  has  unquestion- 
ably failed  in  this  attempt,  as  well  as  in  the  first ;  but, 
whether  he  has  or  has  not  proved  the  justness  of 
attributing  this  influence  to  sympathy,  the  motive 
assigned  remains  the  same ;  and  again  he  is  exposed 
to  the  dilemma,  either  of  sincerely  and  thoroughly 
believing  that  the  principle  of  his  system  really  pro- 
duces this  desire  of  being  praiseworthy,  or  that  it 
does  not.  If  he  allows  that  sympathy  cannot  explain 
this  desire,  then  he  is  conscious  that  his  principle 
cannot  account  for  all  our  acts  of  will,  and  he  is 
forced  to  admit  another  and  independent  principle ; 
and  thus  he  destroys  his  system,  acknowledges  that 
it  is  false,  and  there  is  no  further  need  of  askinor 

7  o 

what  motive  for  virtue  he  adopts.     If,  on  the  contrary, 
he  considers  that  the  desire  of  praise  and  the  desire 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  159 

of  being  praiseworthy  are  equivalent,  then,  although 
he  may  be  deceived,  he  is  still  consistent  in  believing 
that  the  desire  of  sympathy  is  the  single  motive  of  all 
virtuous  acts. 

Thus,  gentlemen,  it  appears  that  Smith  has  not 
altered,  by  either  of  these  attempts,  the  conclusion 
legitimately  to  be  drawn  from  his  principles ;  and, 
therefore,  the  only  motive  of  all  legitimate  actions, 
acknowledged  in  his  system,  is  seen  to  be  the  instinct 
of  sympathy.  And  now  let  us  inquire  what  is  the 
authority  of  this  motive,  and  how  far  it  is  adequate 
to  explain  our  moral  ideas. 

In  absolute  truth,  the  reason  why  we  ought  to  do 
good  is  so  included  in  the  very  idea  of  good,  that 
there  is  no  difference  between  the  moral  law  and  the 
motive  which  makes  obedience  to  it  our  duty.  But 
when  we  substitute  a  false  law  of  morality  for  the 
true  one,  the  authority  is  no  longer  recognized  in 
the  law  itself,  and  we  are  obliged  to  seek  it  in  the 
motive  to  which  we  yield  in  obeying  it.  This  is 
precisely  what  becomes  necessary  in  the  system  of 
sympathy.  Good,  in  this  system,  is  that  which  is 
conformable  to  the  emotions  of  an  impartial  spectator. 
Such  a  rule  has,  as  we  have  already  seen,  no  authority ; 
it  remains,  then,  to  be  seen  whether  the  authority,  which 
does  not  reside  in  the  rule,  may  be  found  in  the  motive 
which  influences  us  when  we  act  in  accordance  with  it 
Let  us  inquire. 

What  is  the  desire  of  sympathy  ?  An  instinct. 
Is  this  instinct  the  only  one  active  in  human  nature? 
Far  from  it :  I  have  many  other  instincts.  Are  the 
instincts  the  only  motives  by  which  I  am  impelled'1 


160  JOUFFROY. 

No ;  for  I  do  not  always  act  instinctively  :  sometimes 
I  am  governed  by  views  of  interest,  sometimes  by 
a  sense  of  order,  by  a  love  of  truth,  or  by  some 
other  conception  of  reason.  To  judge,  then,  of  the 
authority  of  the  motive  of  sympathy,  I  must  compare 
it  with  these  other  motives,  which  also  influence  my 
will,  and  see  what  is  the  nature  of  its  superiority 
We  will  begin  with  the  instincts. 

In  comparing  the  action  of  the  instinct  of  sympathy 
with  that  of  any  other  personal  instinct,  I  find  that, 
whenever  these  are  brought  into  opposition,  sometimes 
one,  sometimes  the  other,  triumphs ;  and  that  the 
determining  cause  of  this  superiority,  unless  some 
considerations  of  reason  enter,  is  always  the  greater 
energy  which  either  may  at  the  moment  possess.  Ex- 
perience proves,  then,  that,  in  its  impulsive  force,  the 
instinct  of  sympathy  is  exactly  equal  to  all  other 
instincts.  But  what  influence  has  an  instinct  over 
my  will,  except  this  power  of  impulse  ?  and  on  what 
ground  can  it  be  considered  entitled  to  supreme  sway, 
except  that  of  its  energy  —  an  energy  of  which  the 
pleasure  following  its  gratification  must  always  be 
the  essential  element?  This  energy  —  which  is  the 
only  claim  of  superiority,  then,  that  the  sympathetic 
instinct  can  possess  —  sympathy  itself,  then,  cannot 
communicate. 

Its  superiority  must  come,  then,  from  a  judgment 
of  reason,  declaring  its  title  to  be  better  than  that 
of  any  other  instinct.  But,  if  reason  thus  decides, 
it  is  by  means  of  some  rule  foreign  from,  and  higher 
than,  instinct ;  and,  therefore,  if,  governed  by  this 
judgment,  we  prefer  the  inspirations  of  instinctive 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  161 

sympathy  to  all  other  impulses,  our  motive  is  no 
longer  derived  from  instinct,  but  from  this  higher 
rule ;  that  is  to  say,  from  reason ;  but  this  the  system 
of  sympathy  cannot  admit.  According  to  this  system, 
then,  the  instinct  of  sympathy,  both  by  right  and 
in  fact,  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  equal  to  every 
other  instinct,  and  can  have  no  real  title  to  superiority. 
And  now  let  us  compare  this  sympathetic  instinct 
with  self-love.  Is  its  superiority  here  manifest  ?  Far 
from  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  the  instincts  of 
sympathy  and  of  interest  well  understood  come  in  con- 
flict, the  former  yields  at  least  as  often  as  it  triumphs, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  right,  the  superiority  of  interest 
well  understood  is  clear.  Whenever  these  motives 
clash,  one  of  two  things  happens :  either  self-love 
approves  or  disapproves  the  instinct  of  sympathy ; 
approving  when  it  sees  that  there  will  be  a  gain  in 
yielding  the  will  to  the  sympathetic  impulse,  and 
disapproving  when  it  anticipates  suffering  as  a  con- 
sequence of  so  doing.  Tn  the  first  case,  our  volition 
is  determined  by  two  cooperating  motives ;  and  far 
from  feeling  that  the  motive  of  interest  is  secondary, 
we  recognize  it,  on  the  contrary,  as  the  principal 
one,  at  least  so  long  as  the  instinct  acts  unaided,  and 
derives  no  support  from  a  motive  of  reason.  In  the 
second  case,  sometimes  the  instinct,  sometimes  the 
judgment  triumphs ;  but,  unless  the  instinct  is  di- 
rected by  some  rational  motive,  we  always  feel,  in 
yielding  to  it,  that  we  should  act  more  wisely  in 
obeying  the  dictate  of  self-interest.  The  instinct 
of  sympathy,  therefore,  far  from  appearing  to  be 
superior  to  self-love,  is  acknowledged  by  us  to  be 

02 


162  JOCFFHOtf. 

inferior;  and  this  superiority  of  the  motive  of  in- 
terest is  owing  to  its  character  of  being  rational : 
on  this  ground,  and  on  this  ground  alone,  does  it 
legitimately  rule  over  the  instinctive  impulse ;  and 
if  at  any  time  the  sympathetic  tendencies  of  our  na- 
ture appear  to  have  the  nobler  character,  it  is  com- 
municated to  them  by  a  motive,  also  rational  though 
yet  higher  —  the  moral  motive. 

Is  there  any  need,  now,  of  attempting  to  show,  that 
a  superiority  of  the  instinct  of  sympathy  over  the 
disinterested  motives  of  reason  is  a  yet  more  chimer- 
ical supposition?  Influenced  by  these  motives,  by  the 
love  of  order,  for  example,  reason  sometimes  approves, 
sometimes  disapproves  the  impulses  of  sympathy ;  for 
it  is  an  error  to  think  that  its  approbation  is  uniform  ; 
there  may  be,  and  are,  cases  in  which  reason  decides 
that  we  ought  to  resist  our  best  sympathies,  even 
thai  sweetest  and  most  sacred  of  all,  the  love  of  a 
parent  to  a  child.  In  cases  where  it  approves,  we 
obey  two  motives ;  and  far  from  the  instinct  seeming 
to  us  to  be  the  principal,  it  is  the  rational  motive, 
which  always  appears  to  us  to  wear  this  character 
of  superiority.  The  same  is  true  of  cases  where 
reason  condemns  the  instinct ;  for,  then,  whether  we 
do  or  do  not  yield  to  the  impulse,  we  still  recognize 
that  we  ought  to  obey  the  judgment. 

Whether  we  compare,  therefore,  the  action  of  the 
instinct  of  sympathy  with  that  of  other  instincts,  or 
with  that  of  either  the  selfish  or  disinterested  motives 
of  reason,  we  can  find  no  signs  of  its  superiority ; 
it  has  no  more  authority  than  every  other  instinct, 
and  it  has  far  less  than  the  rational  motives.  If, 


THE    SENTIMENTAL     SYSTEM. SMITH.  Io3 

then,  this  is  the  motive  to  which  we  really  ought  to 
yield,  no  reason  appears  why  we  should  do  so ;  and 
the  authority,  which  we  could  not  find  in  the  idea 
of  good  as  given  by  the  system  of  sympathy,  is  no 
more  to  be  found  in  the  motive,  which,  according  to 
this  system,  impels  us  to  right  conduct. 

This  Smith  seems  to  have  thought  himself,  and  his 
efforts  to  establish  the  authority  of  the  instinct  of 
sympathy  are  manifest.  Unfortunately,  they  led  only 
to  evident  paralogisms.  Instead  of  proving  that  the 
instinct  of  sympathy  is  the  true  moral  motive,  he 
describes  the  characteristics  of  this  moral  motive, 
and  then  gratuitously  attributes  them  to  the  instinct 
of  sympathy ;  thus  proving,  to  be  sure,  that,  if  the 
instinct  had  these  characteristics,  it  would  be  the 
moral  motive,  but  forgetting  altogether  the  evidence 
that  it  possesses  them. 

No  one  has  better  described  than  Smith  the  supreme 
sway  of  the  moral  motive  over  the  appetites  and  in- 
stincts, and  all  the  faculties  of  our  nature ;  and  the  pas- 
sages in  which  he  establishes  this  point  are  perfectly 
true  as  well  as  beautiful.  Whatever  may  be  our  idea  of 
the  moral  faculty,  to  it  always  belongs,  says  Smith, 
the  direction  of  our  conduct,  and,  consequently,  the 
superintendence  of  all  our  faculties,  passions,  and 
appetites.  It  is  false,  that  the  moral  faculty  is  like 
our  other  faculties,  having  no  more  right  than  they 
to  prescribe  laws.  No  other  faculty  passes  judgment 
upon  its  kindred  faculties ;  love  does  not  judge  re- 
sentment, nor  resentment  love ;  these  two  faculties 
may  be  in  opposition,  but  they  neither  approve  nor 
disapprove  each  other ;  it  is  the  special  function  of 


164  JOUFFROY. 

the  moral  faculty,  on  the  contrary,  to  judge,  approve, 
and  censure  the  other  faculties ;  it  is  a  sense,  of 
which  all  other  principles  of  our  nature  are  the 
appropriate  object.  Each  sense  is  sovereign  judge 
as  to  its  object;  there  is  no  appeal,  in  a  question  of 
color,  from  the  eye  to  the  ear,  nor  from  the  ear 
to  the  eye,  in  a  question  of  sound ;  that  which  is 
pleasing  to  the  eye  is  beautiful,  to  the  taste  sweet, 
to  the  ear  harmonious;  and  the  peculiarity  of  the 
moral  faculty  is  a  power  of  judging  of  the  degree 
in  which  the  ear  should  be  charmed,  the  eye  de- 
lighted, the  taste  gratified — -of  the  degree,  in  other 
words,  in  which  it  is  proper,  meritorious,  good,  that 
either  of  our  faculties  should  be  restrained.  The 
words  good,  bad,  just,  unjust,  merit,  demerit,  pro- 
priety, impropriety,  express  what  is  pleasing  or  dis- 
pleasing to  this  faculty  ;  it  is,  therefore,  the  governing 
power  in  our  nature.  Its  laws  are  real  laws,  in  the 
true  acceptation  of  that  word ;  for  they  regulate  the 
right  acts  of  free  agents,  and  by  their  sanctions 
administer  reward  and  punishment ;  and  so  far  is 
this  word  laws  from  having  a  just  application  to  our 
faculties  of  seeing,  hearing,  moving,  and  all  our 
other  faculties,  that,  when  we  speak  of  their  laws 
of  action,  we  mean  to  signify  that  they  operate  in 
a  necessary  way. 

Unquestionably  this  is  perfectly  true.  But,  in  the 
first  place,  Smith  has  not  seen,  that  this  subordina- 
tion of  all  our  faculties  is  not  peculiar  to  the  moral 
motive,  but  may  equally  belong  to  every  motive  and 
impulse.  If  we  propose,  as  the  supreme  end  of  con- 
duct, the  sympathy  of  others,  we  shall  regulate  HG 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM.  SMITH.  165 

cordingly  all  our  appetites,  instincts,  and  faculties, 
and  make  them  subordinate  to  this  end.  We  shall 
do  the  same  if  we  propose,  as  our  end,  self-interest, 
literary  reputation,  or  any  other  end.  It  is  not,  then, 
the  special  character  of  the  moral  faculty,  that  it 
subjects  to  its  rule,  as  supreme,  the  action  of  our 
other  faculties ;  every  other  faculty  may  do  this,  and 
in  an  equal  degree,  whenever  it  is  made  the  ruling 
motive  of  conduct.  The  special  characteristic  of  the 
moral  motive — and  this  is  the  second  point  which 
Smith  has  overlooked  —  is  that,  among  all  possible  mo- 
tives for  action,  it  alone  can  be  obligatory,  arid  for  this 
reason  —  that,  though  other  motives  may  present  differ- 
ent ends  to  be  pursued,  the  moral  motive  alone  pre- 
sents, as  an  end,  that  which  ought  to  be  done,  which 
is  the  true  end  of  human  life,  and  which  is  seen  by 
us  to  be  legitimate  and  sacred  in  itself.  This  is  what 
distinguishes  the  moral  motive  from  all  others.  Smith 
may  prove,  to  be  sure,  that,  in  taking  as  a  rule  for 
conduct  the  inspirations  of  the  instinct  of  sympathy, 
we  obey  a  principle  by  which  we  may  intelligently 
control  the  action  of  all  our  natural  faculties ;  but 
the  same  thing  might  be  proved  of  every  other 
principle  of  conduct ;  and  it  by  no  means  follows 
that  this  principle  and  the  moral  principle  are  iden- 
tical. Smith  does  not  prove  exactly,  what  it  was 
necessary  he  should  prove  to  establish  this  identity, 
that  this  instinct  is  obligatory,  and  that  the  end  to 
which  it  impels  us  is  legitimate  and  sacred  in  itself. 
If  he  had  proved  this,  the  authority  of  the  instinct 
of  sympathy  would  have  been  no  longer  doubtful ; 


166  JOUFFROY. 

but   this  cannot  be  proved  of  any  faculty  except  the 
moral  one,  for  it  is  true  of  this  motive  alone. 

Smith  believes  that  he  recognizes  the  moral  mo- 
tive in  the  instinct  of  sympathy,  for  this  additional 
reason,  that  it  renders  us  impartial.  If  we  should 
hear,  he  says,  that  the  empire  of  China  was  swal- 
lowed up,  we  should  be  less  affected  than  by  the 
loss  of  a  finger.  How  can  the  partiality  of  these 
judgments  be  remedied  ?  By  sympathy.  When  we 
place  ourselves  in  the  situation  of  an  impartial  spec- 
tator, each  event  assumes  its  relative  value,  and  we 
learn  to  estimate  it,  not  by  the  rule  of  self-love,  but 
by  that  of  justice.  It  would  be  easy  to  demonstrate, 
that  sympathy,  acting  by  itself,  would  be  without 
power  to  prevent  this  preponderance  of  our  selfish- 
ness. But  even  if  I  admit  this,  the  reasoning  of 
Smith  would  still  be  a  paralogism.  Interest,  well 
understood,  produces  some  of  the  effects  of  the  moral 
ynotive.  Does  it  follow  from  this  that  it  is  the  moral 
motive  ?  The  point  to  be  proved  is  not  that  the 
instinct  of  sympathy  acts  like  the  moral  motive,  but 
that  it  is  the  moral  motive.  Now,  how  can  the 
moral  motive  be  recognized?  By  its  authority. 
Among  all  possible  motives,  the  moral  motive  alone 
appears  to  us  as  one  that  ought  to  govern  our 
conduct.  It  is  when  recognized  by  this  sign,  that 
we  are  able  to  judge  of  its  tendencies ;  and  it  is 
because  these  tendencies  are  those  of  the  moral 
motive,  that  they  seem  to  us  legitimate.  But,  first, 
to  say  that  certain  tendencies  are  legitimate,  and, 
then,  because  a  motive  appears  to  have  these  tenden- 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  167 

cies,  to  conclude  that  it  is  the  moral  motive,  is  a 
pure  paralogism. 

Thus,  as  you  see,  gentlemen,  we  seek  in  vain  for  any 
right,  possessed  by  the  instinct  of  sympathy,  of  con- 
trolling our  conduct ;  there  is  none  to  be  found ;  and 
this  is  equally  true  of  all  other  instincts.  In 
refuting  the  system  of  Smith,  I  refute,  therefore, 
every  other  moral  system,  which  seeks  in  instinct 
for  the  regulating  principle  of  volition ;  and  this  is 
my  apology  for  such  a  lengthened  discussion. 

If  the  motive  of  sympathy  has  no  authority,  it 
is  plain  that  it  cannot  explain  our  moral  ideas,  for 
each  of  them  implies  a  motive  of  obligation.  SmitV'g 
system,  indeed,  may  employ,  in  a  certain  sense,  the 
words  which  represent  these  ideas;  but  it  can  do 
so  only  by  altering  the  meaning  which  they  have 
in  common  acceptation.  Your  attention  has  already 
been  directed  to  this  change  of  signification,  in  relation 
to  the  words  merit  and  demerit;  and  I  now  will 
proceed  to  show  a  similar  misuse  of  the  words  duty 
and  right. 

Smith  gives  two  definitions  of  duty  —  a  fact  which 
itself  indicates  that  he  felt  an  embarrassment  in  at- 
tempting to  explain  it.  We  are  governed  by  duty, 
he  says,  when  we  obey  the  rules  of  conduct  which 
emanate  from  sympathy,  and  by  sentiment  when  we 
yield  directly  to  the  instinct  of  sympathy.  But  Avhat 
are  these  rules  1  They  are  generalizations  of  par- 
ticular judgments  of  instinctive  sympathy  :  the  au- 
thority of  the  rules,  then,  is  derived  from  that  of 
those  judgments;  and  the  motive  which  compels  us 
to  respect  the  one,  is  the  same  with  that  which 


168  JOUFFROY. 

leads  us  to  yield  to  the  other.  If  it  is  a  duty,  then, 
to  obey  the  laws,  it  is  because  it  is  a  duty  to  obey 
the  instinct,  on  which  supposition,  the  distinction 
of  Smith  is  without  foundation.  But  it  cannot  be 
a  duty  to  obey  an  instinct ;  for  neither  the  judgments 
of  the  instinct,  nor  the  desire  of  sympathy  impelling 
us  to  yield  to  it,  are  obligatory ;  it  cannot,  then,  be 
a  duty  to  obey  these  rules;  and  duty,  as  Smith  under- 
stands it,  is  not  duty  as  we  understand  it ;  for,  in  our 
idea,  it  has  the  character  of  obligation,  which  in  his 
it  has  not ;  so  that,  in  using  the  word  with  such 
a  signification,  Smith  actually  suppresses  the  idea 
which  it  has  always  represented  in  human  intelli- 
gence. 

Smith  has  the  art  of  connecting  his  errors  with  a 
truth,  and  of  thus  rendering  them  specious.  Thus, 
in  the  present  instance,  he  founds  his  definition  of 
duty  upon  a  true  distinction,  recognized  by  every  one, 
between  acting  from  sentiment  and  acting  from  duty. 
The  distinction  is  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  true 
nature  of  man,  which  acts  sometimes  dutifully,  some- 
times instinctively.  But  when  we  convert  instinct 
into  duty,  we  commit  an  absurdity ;  for  we  thus 
destroy  the  distinction  between  these  two  moving 
springs  of  action;  and,  whether  we  obey  instinct 
or  the  rules  emanating  from  it,  the  motive  remains 
the  same,  and  the  character  of  the  volition  is  un- 
changed. 

Smith  inconsistently  gives,  however,  another  defi- 
nition to  the  word  duty.  There  is  but  one  virtue, 
says  he,  whose  omission  causes  positive  injury ;  this 
virtue  is  justice  ;  it  is  the  only  one,  then,  which  others 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  169 

have  a  right  to  compel  us  to  regard ;  and,  therefore, 
it  is  the  only  one  which  it  is  a  duty  to  practise,  in 
the  true  acceptation  of  that  word ;  such  is  the  true 
meaning  of  the  words  right  and  duty.  Doubtless, 
gentlemen,  it  is  a  duty  to  respect  justice;  and  other 
men  have  a  right  to  exact  from  us  a  respect  for  it, 
and  even  to  constrain  us  to  observe  its  dictates.  But 
upon  what  are  such  a  right  and  duty  founded,  in  the 
system  of  sympathy  ?  Follow  closely  this  reasoning 
of  Smitl\  Why  is  justice  a  duty?  Because  others 
have  the  right  to  compel  us  to  observe  it.  Whence 
comes  their  right  ?  From  the  fact  that  injustice 
would  do  them  a  positive  wrong.  My  only  duty, 
then,  is  not  to  injure  others ;  my  only  right  is  to 
prevent  their  injuring  me.  I  violate  duty  whenever 
I  do  evil  to  a  fellow-being;  he  violates  my  right 
whenever  he  does  an  evil  to  me ;  I  have  fulfilled  my 
whole  duty  when  I  avoid  causing  others  pain  ;  they 
have  respected  entirely  my  right,  when  they  have 
caused  me  none.  I  ask,  now,  who  would  admit 
such  propositions  1  Who  would  allow  that  they 
coincide  with  the  true  ideas  of  duty  and  right? 
But  for  the  moment  I  will  adopt  these  definitions, 
and  then  ask,  whence,  in  the  system  of  Smith,  comes 
the  obligation  not  to  injure  others,  and  why  is  it 
the  only  obligation  ?  The  emotions  of  the  impartial 
spectator  make  me  aware  that  he  sympathizes  with 
justice,  indeed,  but  that  he  sympathizes  with  other 
virtues  also ;  the  desire  of  the  sympathy  of  my  fellow- 
beings  will  impel  me  to  the  practice  of  this  virtue, 
but  it  will  impel  me  equally  to  the  practice  of  other 

VOL.    If.  P 


170  JOUFFROY. 

virtues  In  proportion  as  the  antipathy  resulting  in 
injustice  is  stronger,  justice  may  find  in  the  desire  of 
sympathy  a  more  efficient  aid ;  but  this  difference 
is  one  of  degree  merely.  If  instinct  can  enforce 
obligation  to  a  certain  degree,  it  can  in  all  degrees  ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  cannot  enforce  obligation 
to  this  degree,  it  cannot  in  any  ;  so  that  neither  the 
rule  of  moral  appreciation,  nor  the  motive  recognized 
by  this  system,  are  sufficient  to  explain  the  difference 
between  justice  and  all  other  virtues.  The  system, 
therefore,  must  be  abandoned,  and,  at  the  expense  of 
being  inconsistent,  some  other  explanation  must  be 
found.  How  does  Smith  attempt  to  explain  this  dif- 
ference ?  By  two  considerations  :  first,  that  injustice 
inflicts  pain ;  secondly,  that  we  have  a  right  to  repel 
it  by  force.  But,  abstractly  considered,  it  is  not  true 
that  the  specific  characteristic  of  injustice  is  that  it 
causes  injury ;  and  it  is  no  more  true  that  from  this 
characteristic  is  derived  the  right  of  repelling  it  by 
force ;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  justice  often  author- 
izes, and  even  commands,  the  infliction  of  pain;  and, 
on  the  other,  so  far  from  injustice  being  recognized 
by  the  fact  that  it  is  something  which  we  have  a  right 
to  repel  with  force,  it  is  precisely  because  it  is  recog- 
nized as  injustice  that  we  have  this  right  of  forcibly 
repelling  it.  Not  only,  therefore,  is  the  system  of 
sympathy  incompetent  to  prove  that  justice  is  a  duty, 
but  all  Smith's  efforts  to  determine  in  which  the  duty 
consists,  lead  only  to  a  mutilation  of  the  idea ;  so 
perverted  does  even  the  justest  mind  become  by  a 
false  system,  and  so  impossible  is  it  found,  even  at 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM.  SMITH.  171 

the  cost  of  most  palpable  inconsistencies,  to  return 
again  into  the  way  of  truth,  when  once  led  by  system 
into  error. 

Nothing  would  be  easier  than  to  prove  that  what 
I  have  now  said  of  duty,  as  explained  by  this  system, 
applies  with  equal  force  to  every  other  moral  idea  ; 
but  this  would  lead  me  into  useless  repetition  ;  and 
I  hasten,  therefore,  to  test  Smith's  system  by  the  third 
question,  of  which  I  have  a  right  to  ask  a  solution, 
and  inquire  what  end  it  assigns  for  human  conduct 
in  the  present  life. 

According  to  Smith,  the  supreme  and  final  end 
of  every  human  being  is  to  contribute,  with  all  his 
power,  to  the  production  of  perfect  harmony  of  sen- 
timent among  men.  Such  is  the  definitive  result 
which  all  virtuous  conduct  tends  to  produce;  such 
is  the  end  to  be  sought  in  all  our  deliberations,  pur- 
poses, and  acts. 

Unquestionably,  gentlemen,  a  complete  harmony  of 
sentiments,  and  a  perfect  cooperation  of  will  among 
all  members  of  the  human  family,  is  one  of  the  effects 
which  a  universal  practice  of  the  moral  law  would 
produce :  every  virtuous  action  has  this  tendency ; 
every  vicious  act  an  opposite  one.  Yet  more ;  I  admit 
that,  among  the  instincts  of  our  nature,  those  which 
are  called  sympathetic,  tend  more  directly,  at  least 
in  appearance,  (on  which  point  I  will  hereafter  ex- 
plain my  meaning,)  to  produce  this  result,  than  the 
so  called  personal  instincts.  But  having  made  these 
concessions,  we  have  still  to  inquire  whether  this 
universal  harmony  of  sentiment  and  will  is  the  true 
and  legitimate  end  of  the  individual,  which  he  should 


172  JOUFFROY. 

set  before  him  as  the  true  object  of  pursuit,  and  to 
which  all  thoughts  and  acts  of  life  should  incessantly 
be  directed  ;  for  this  is  the  point  which  every  ethical 
system  is  bound  to  decide.  This  is  a  result,  says 
Smith,  which  sympathy  tends  to  produce.  Well,  let 
it  be  granted  ;  and  what  then  ?  The  point  which  an 
ethical  system  is  bound  to  determine  is  the  legitimate 
end  of  human  action  :  an  ethical  system  ought,  there- 
fore, not  only  to  assign  an  end  to  conduct,  but  to 
prove  that  this  end  is  the  legitimate  one.  This  is 
what  Smith,  however,  neglects  to  do.  Of  two  courses 
of  reasoning  open  to  him,  and  which,  though  not 
strictly  logical,  would  yet  have  given  some  appearance 
of  foundation  to  his  system,  Smith  has  adopted 
neither :  he  has  not  attempted  to  prove  the  legitimacy 
of  this  universal  harmony  as  a  result,  and  thence 
inferred  the  legitimacy  of  sympathy  as  a  motive;  nor 
has  he  attempted  to  show  the  legitimacy  of  sympathy 
as  a  motive,  and  thence  concluded  that  this  universal 
harmony  is  a  legitimate  result.  We  have  already  seen 
that  he  has  not  established  the  authority  of  sympathy 
as  a  motive ;  and  now  I  will  proceed  to  show  that 
he  has  been  equally  unsuccessful  in  proving  that  this 
universal  harmony  is  the  legitimate  end  for  human 
conduct. 

In  what  way  does  Smith  attempt  to  prove  that  this 
harmony  is  man's  true  end  in  this  world  ?  First,  he 
shows  that  it  is  beautiful.  The  spectacle  of  a  number 
of  men  animated  with  similar  sentiments  has,  he 
says,  the  character  of  beauty.  The  effect  of  such 
a  sight  is  like  that  produced  by  the  contemplation  of  a 
complicated  piece  of  mechanism,  whose  wheels,  not- 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM. SMITH.  173 

withstanding  their  number  and  diversity,  work  together 
to  one  grand  result.  What  is  the  human  race  but 
an  exceedingly  complicated  machine;  and  what  can 
be  more  eminently  beautiful  than  the  harmony  and 
perfect  concurrence  of  so  many  hearts  and  wills?  I 
am  far  from  denying  the  magnificent  effect  of  such 
a  result ;  but  I  cannot  but  say,  in  reply  to  Smith, 
that  this  consideration  of  beauty  is  not  to  the  purpose, 
and  proves  nothing;  for,  supposing  that  the  conduct 
of  a  man  whose  end  is  self-interest,  should,  through 
long  years,  and  under  varied  circumstances,  be 
steadily  directed  to  his  end  in  every  separate  act,  the 
conditions  of  beauty  here  mentioned  would  be  ful- 
filled. But  would  it  thence  follow  that  this  conduct 
was  good  ?  By  no  means ;  and  for  this  reason,  that 
beauty  is  a  different  thing  from  morality.  Undoubt- 
edly, whatever  is  moral  is  at  the  same  time  beautiful  ; 
and  without  doubt,  if  we  may  trust  our  weak  reason, 
in  God  these  two  attributes  coincide,  and  are  but  a 
twofold  aspect  of  the  same  essence ;  but  here,  on 
earth,  beauty  is  not  goodness ;  there  are  beautiful 
things  without  number,  which  have,  in  our  view,  no 
moral  character.  To  establish  the  morality  of  con- 
duct, then,  it  is  not  enough  that  we  should  prove 
it  to  be  beautiful,  although  it  might  be  a  sufficient 
proof  of  its  beauty,  to  show  that  it  is  moral. 

Secondly,  Smith  proves  that  a  universal  accordance 
among  men  would  be  useful ;  and  asserts  that  men 
would  be  perfectly  happy  if  this  harmony  could  be 
produced.  I  have  no  wish  to  contradict  this;  al- 
though, certainly,  this  would  appear  to  me  to  be  only 
one  element  of  happiness,  and  not  comolete  happiness. 


174  JOUFFROT. 

But  let  this,  too,  be  granted.  Is  utility,  then,  moral- 
ity ?  If  so,  then  self-love  is  a  virtue ;  and  it  will  be 
all  in  vain  for  Smith  to  prove  the  disinterestedness 
of  sympathy.  I  have  said,  and  I  believe,  that  what- 
ever is  good  is,  for  that  reason,  useful,  and  nothing 
can  be  so  productive  of  utility  as  goodness.  But  from 
this  it  by  no  means  follows,  that  the  ideas  of  utility 
and  of  good  are  the  same,  and  that  the  conception 
of  the  first  is  the  acquisition  of  the  latter.  Between 
the  utility  and  the  legitimacy  of  an  end  there  is  the 
widest  difference;  and  if  Smith  could  produce  a  thou- 
sand proofs  of  the  utility  of  this  harmony,  he  would 
have  done  nothing  to  demonstrate  its  legitimacy. 

Thus,  then,  gentlemen,  Smith  proves  satisfactorily 
that  a  universal  harmony  of  feeling  among  human 
beings  is  the  final  end  of  sympathy,  and  that  this  end 
is  beautiful  and  useful ;  but  he  does,  not  prove  that 
it  is  man's  true  end;  and  for  this  reason,  that  he 
cannot  prove  it.  His  system  assigns,  indeed,  a  rule, 
a  motive,  and  an  end  for  human  conduct,  but  they, 
one  and  all.  emanate  from  instinct ;  and  as  the  in- 
stinct is  devoid  of  moral  character,  the  rule  can  have 
no  obligation,  the  motive  no  authority,  the  end  no 
legitimacy.  It  is  a  rule  to  be  followed,  a  motive  to 
be  obeyed,  an  end  to  be  pursued,  at  our  own  option  ; 
in  a  word,  it  is  morality  deprived  of  its  essential 
element  of  obligation.  If  a  mind,  under  the  direction 
of  this  system,  then,  does  right,  it  must  be  attributed 
to  the  general  coincidence  between  the  impulses  of 
sympathy  and  the  requisitions  of  the  moral  law.  But 
this  coincidence  is  still  greater  between  the  dictates 
of  the  moral  law  and  the  counsels  of  interest  well 


THE    SENTIMENTAL     SYSTEM. SMITH.  175 

understood ;  for  interest  includes  all  instincts,  while 
sympathy  recognizes  but  a  few.  I  have  before  said, 
and  I  repeat,  that  instinctive  tendencies,  self-interest, 
and  the  moral  law,  impel  man  equally  to  the  pursuit 
of  his  true  end ;  but  they  differ  in  the  degree  in 
which  they  enable  him  to  comprehend  what  it  is,  and 
in  the  authority  of  the  motives  which  they  present 
for  its  pursuit;  and  morality  depends  upon  the  manner 
in  which  we  pursue,  and  the  view  with  which  we 
regard  our  end.  Hence  the  coincidences  and  differ- 
ences which  we  observe  among  the  various  systems 
of  ethics.  God  has  not  intrusted  us  to  the  single 
guidance  of  the  law  of  duty ;  he  has  not  committed 
exclusively  to  this  austere  motive  the  accomplishment 
of  an  end,  whose  consequences  will  extend  to  the 
human  race  and  the  whole  creation  ;  our  nature  would 
have  been  too  weak  to  be  governed  by  this  sole 
motive ;  and  therefore  has  he,  with  admirable  wis- 
dom, provided  numberless  secondary  motives,  all  pow- 
erful and  attractive,  which  tend  to  the  same  direction, 
and  become  the  auxiliaries  of  the  moral  law.  The 
agreement  of  these  motives  with  the  moral  law  has 
deceived  many  philosophers  ;  they  have  overlooked  the 
fact  that  these  motives  are  all  devoid  of  the  character 
of  obligation,  and,  consequently,  that  neither  of  them 
can  be  the  moral  law  they  seek.  The  failure  of  their 
attempts  to  explain  our  moral  ideas,  by  means  of  a 
supposed  law  that  is  really  not  a  law,  should  have 
undeceived  them  ;  but  once  lost  on  a  false  track,  the 
mind  no  more  returns.  It  follows  out  its  principle, 
reconciling  its  errors  with  common  sense  by  uncon- 
scious sophistry.  Such  is  the  spectacle  which  Smith, 


176  JOUFFROY. 

notwithstanding  his  clear  intellect,  presents ;  and  this 
is  one  consideration  that  has  led  me  to  give  so  de- 
tailed an  exposition  of  his  views. 

When  reason,  combining  into  the  one  general  end 
of  personal  good  the  separate  ends,  to  which  our  sev- 
eral passions  impel  us,  rises  to  the  idea  that  this 
personal  good  is  the  end  of  our  nature,  and  that  this 
end  is  but  one  element  of  a  universal  order,  that 
every  rational  and  free  being  is  summoned  to  advance, 
then,  and  then  only,  is  an  end  which  ought  to  be* 
pursued,  a  law  which  ought  to  be  respected,  a  motive 
which  ought  to  be  obeyed,  revealed.  And  here  is 
the  source  of  those  various  moral  ideas,  which  neither 
instinct  nor  interest  can  account  for,  because  interest 
and  instinct  do  not  give  them  birth.  Traced  back 
to  their  true  principle,  these  ideas  may  be  explained 
easily,  without  sophistry,  and  in  a  natural  and  common 
sense;  but  referred  to  self-love  or  to  instinct,  they 
remain  inexplicable ;  and  the  combined  resources 
of  the  most  ingenious  mind  can  account  for  them 
only  by  mutilating  and  deforming  their  real  nature. 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  177 


LECTURE   XIX. 


THE  SENTIMENTAL  SYSTEM.  —  SYSTEM  OP  THE  MORAL 
SENSE. 


GENTLEMEN, 

As  the  system  of  Smith  is,  without  compar- 
ison, the  most  remarkable  of  those  which  seek  in 
instinct  for  the  explanation  of  moral  ideas,  I  have 
taken  it  as  the  common  type  of  these  systems ;  and 
by  exhibiting  and  refuting  it  in  detail,  I  have  exhibited 
and  refuted  the  fundamental  principle  of  all  instinc- 
tive systems.  You  are  now  in  possession,  therefore, 
of  the  explanation,  and  can  understand  the  common 
error  of  these  systems.  But,  gentlemen,  there  are 
shades  of  difference  among  the  systems  of  instinct, 
similar  to  those  among  the  selfish  systems  already 
described ;  and  it  is  well  that  these  differences  should 
be  pointed  out.  Sentiment  or  instinct,  according  to 
all  of  these  systems,  is  the  source  from  which  emanate 
our  moral  judgments  and  volitions;  but  while  some 
limit  themselves  by  adopting  one  only  of  our  primitive 
tendencies,  such  as  benevolence  or  sympathy,  as  the 
principle  of  the  first  and  the  motive  of  the  second, 
others  introduce  into  the  operation  of  the  sensibility, 
in  its  discharge  of  these  functions,  a  new  instinct, 


178  JOUFFROY. 

which  they  take  the  liberty  of  creating,  and 
they  entitle,  in  view  of  its  offices,  the  moral  sentiment 
or  sense.  This,  gentlemen,  is  the  only  important 
difference  which  distinguishes  the  instinctive  systems 
into  two  classes.  To  the  first  class  belongs  the  system 
of  Smith,  which  I  have  at  such  length  discussed ;  and 
I  am  now  to  give  you  some  idea  of  systems  composing 
the  second  class  —  presenting,  as  they  do,  under 
various  forms,  the  famous  doctrine  of  the  moral  sense 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  refute  them,  because  you  will 
readily  see  that  the  radical  defect  of  these  systems 
and  of  Smith's  is  the  same  ;  and  I  shall  confine  my 
self,  therefore,  to  a  rapid  description  of  them.  Such, 
gentlemen,  will  be  the  subject  of  the  present  lecture; 
but,  first,  I  ought  to  answer  a  question  which  probably 
has  occurred  to  your  minds. 

How  has  it  happened,  you  may  ask,  that  all  these 
moral  systems,  which  we  have  been  considering,  were 
of  English  origin?  The  explanation  of  the  fact  is 
this  very  simple  one,  that  moral  philosophy,  properly 
so  called,  has  been  infinitely  more  cultivated  in 
England,  during  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  cen- 
turies, than  in  any  other  part  of  Europe.  In  France, 
for  example,  the  Cartesian  era  produced  only  one 
eminent  moralist,  Malebranche  ;  and  Malebranche 
belonged  neither  to  the  class  of  selfish  philosophers, 
nor  to  that  of  the  sentimental  philosophers.  Cartesian- 
ism  was  followed,  in  France,  in  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  by  a  new  philosophy ;  but  this 
was  the  system  of  materialism  in  metaphysics,  and 
of  selfishness  in  morals ;  —  and,  called  to  choose 
between  Helvetius  and  Hobbes,  I  could  not  but  prefer 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  MORAL  SENSE.         179 

llobbes.  Much  the  same  might  be  said  of  the  philoso- 
phy of  Germany,  which  has  always  been  more  meta- 
physical than  moral,  and  has  never  exhibited  any  forms 
of  the  selfish  or  instinctive  systems,  which  have  ob- 
tained such  a  European  celebrity  as  those  of  Hobbes, 
of  Smith,  and  of  Hume.  Of  the  various  systems 
of  moral  philosophy  which  have  appeared  beyond  the 
Rhine,  the  only  ones  which  have  attracted  much 
attention  have  belonged  to  the  class  of  rational 
systems,  to  be  considered  hereafter  —  with  the  single 
exception  of  that  of  Jacobi,  concerning  which  I  shall 
make  a  few  remarks  in  the  present  lecture.  I  will  add, 
that  German  systems,  in  general,  present  a  twofold 
difficulty  to  the  French  philosopher ;  first,  that  the 
language  is  one  not  easily  acquired ;  and,  secondly, 
that  the  German  mind  itself  is  not  characterized  by 
either  method  or  clearness.  But,  in  truth,  the  country 
to  which  these  various  forms  of  ethical  systems  belong, 
is  a  matter  of  no  consequence;  the  human  mind 
recognizes,  every  where  in  philosophy,  the  same 
truths  and  the  same  errors,  and  no  nation  is  privileged 
with  a  knowledge  of  what  is  hidden  from  all  others. 

o 

The  only  difference  between  different  people  is,  that, 
in  some,  the  ideas  which  we  meet  with  in  all  are 
expressed  with  peculiar  clearness.  I  feel  that  I  ought 
to  give  this  explanation,  gentlemen,  because  the 
lecture  of  to-day  will  be  once  again  occupied  with 
a  consideration  of  English  systems  of  philosophy. 
You  must  not  accuse  me  of  Anglomania ;  for  I  am 
not  answerable  for  the  fact  that  the  system  of  the 
moral  sense  should  have  taken  its  origin,  and  have 
found  its  ablest  advocates,  beyond  the  Channel 


180  JOUFFRO*. 

The  philosopher  who  first  professed  this  system, 
and  gave  it  a  definite  form,  was  Shaftesbury.  A  few 
words  will  suffice  to  enable  you  to  comprehend  this 
system,  which  embraces  all  the  fundamental  principles 
of  the  doctrine  of  the  moral  sense. 

Shaftesbury  recognized  two  distinct  classes  of  de- 
sires— benevolent  or  social,  and  personal  desires.  De- 
sires of  the  first  class  impel  us  to  love  the  happiness 
of  others  for  its  own  sake,  without  any  reference 
to  its  influence  upon  us;  and  their  predominance  m 
a  character  constitutes  goodness.  Our  minds  co- 
operate in  the  production  and  development  of  our 
desires,  and,  while  some  are  naturally  agreeable  to 
us,  others  are  displeasing.  Consequently,  we  approve 
some,  and  disapprove  others.  If  the  dispositions  of 
the  mind  are  thus  pleasing  or  repugnant  to  the  mine! 
itself,  it  must  be  because  it  possesses,  independent 
of  these  dispositions,  by  which  external  objects  are 
agreeable  or  disagreeable,  a  yet  more  inward  dispo- 
sition, fulfilling  in  regard  to  them  the  same  functions, 
which  they  fulfil  in  regard  to  the  outer  world.  Shaftes- 
bury calls  this  disposition  a  sense ,  and  the  sense  itself 
he  names  the  moral  or  reflex  sense.  He  it  was,  then, 
who  introduced  into  philosophy  the  expression  which 
has  since  become  so  famous.  The  desires  of  our 
nature,  which  are  agreeable  to  this  sense,  and  which 
it  approves,  are,  for  that  reason,  morally  good ;  those, 
on  the  other  hand,  which  are  repugnant  to  it,  and 
which  it  disapproves,  are  morally  bad.  Virtue  consists 
in  yielding  to  the  former,  and  in  resisting  the  latter. 
There  is  a  coincidence,  though  -not  an  identity, 
between  goodness  and  virtue ;  goodness  is  the  natural 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  181 

predominance  in  the  character  and  conduct  of  the 
benevolent  dispositions ;  virtue  is  the  predominance 
of  the  same  dispositions,  voluntarily  produced  by  the 
reflex  sense;  which  implies  the  doctrine,  afterwards 
taught  by  Hutcheson,  that  the  only  morally  good 
desires  are  those  of  benevolence.  In  what  consists, 
according  to  Shaftesbury,  the  superiority  of  virtue 
over  selfishness?  In  the  fact,  that  the  exercise  of 
the  benevolent  affections  gives  to  the  reflex  sense  a 
pleasure,  which  that  of  the  personal  affections  does 
not ;  there  is  more  happiness  in  yielding  to  the  former 
than  to  the  latter.  To  say  that  virtue  is  superior  to 
selfishness,  is  to  say  that  it  renders  us  happier. 

You  see,  gentlemen,  that,  in  this  system,  the  prin- 
ciple which  distinguishes  good  from  evil,  is  an  instinct, 
but  a  special  and  peculiar  instinct,  having  an  appro- 
priate function,  and  wholly  distinct  from  the  benevolent 
affections.  This  instinct  is  what  is  called,  by  common 
sense,  conscience,  and,  by  philosophers,  the  moral 
faculty.  Such  is  the  principle  of  moral  judgments. 
As  to  the  motive  of  virtuous  acts,  Shaftesbury  says 
nothing  positively,  and  I  will  not  compel  him  to 
overstep  his  own  declarations ;  but  still  it  is  quite 
evidently  his  opinion  that  when  we  act  well  we  yield 
altogether  to  the  force  of  our  benevolent  affections, 
and  to  the  influence  which  the  moral  sense  exerts 
as  an  impulse.  Considering  our  benevolent  and  per- 
sonal affections  as  equal  forces,  it  is  the  office  of  the 
moral  instinct  to  give  a  preponderance  to  the  influence 
of  those  which  it  approves ;  in  this  its  whole  suprema- 
cy consists  —  a  supremacy  of  fact,  and  not  of  right ; 
and,  according  to  this  view,  it  is  the  true  motive 

VOL.     II.  Q, 


182  JOUFFROY. 

of  virtuous  resolves.  If  Shaftesbury  did  not  himself 
thus  carry  out  his  thought,  it  must  at  least  be  said 
that  his  system  leads  to  this  conclusion. 

Without  professedly  adopting  the  theory  of  the 
moral  sentiment,  no  one  contributed  more  to  its 
development  than  Butler,  another  English  philosopher, 
who  wrote  early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  whose 
works  contain  the  germs  of  several  fundamental  ideas 
afterward  taught  by  Hutcheson  and  Hume.  Butler 
begins,  as  Shaftesbury  did,  with  a  division  of  our 
instinctive  tendencies  into  the  personal  and  the  benevo- 
lent ;  but  he  is  to  be  distinguished  by  this,  that  he 
was  the  first,  perhaps,  who  distinctly  recognized  that 
one  of  these  classes  of  affections  is  equally  disin- 
terested with  the  other;  that  the  object  of  the  first, 
as  of  the  second,  is  an  external  one;  and  that  the 
former  seek  the  means  of  securing  happiness  no  more 
than  the  latter.  Selfishness,  according  to  Butler, 
consists  not  in  the  development  of  the  personal  in- 
stincts, but  in  their  being  made  predominant  and 
supreme  by  reflection  and  our  own  consent.  He 
makes  a  distinction,  as  Rousseau  did  at  a  later  period, 
between  selfishness  and  love  of  self.  What  is  the 
true  desire  and  end  of  self-love  ?  asks  Butler.  Is  it 
not  our  greatest  pleasure  and  happiness?  But  nothing 
is  so  fatal  to  happiness  as  selfishness ;  and  if,  in 
conduct,  we  seek  chiefly  the  satisfaction  of  our  per- 
sonal tendencies,  far  from  securing  our  greatest  possi- 
ble pleasure,  we  shall  attain  only  moderate  pleasure, 
because  we  deprive  ourselves  of  the  gratifications 
accompanying  the  exercise  of  the  benevolent  affec- 
tions, which  constitute  the  largest  element  of  happiness. 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  183 

Selfishness  is  love  of  self  perverted ;  and,  so  far 
from  their  being  identical,  they  are  opposed  to  each 
other. 

Independently  of  these  two  classes  of  reflex  dis- 
positions, and  the  instinctive  affections,  both  personal 
and  benevolent,  which  they  imply  and  presuppose, 
Butler  recognizes  a  superior  principle  in  our  nature, 
whose  function  it  is  to  form  a  moral  estimate  of  our 
different  dispositions,  and  to  distinguish  among  them 
the  good  from  the  evil.  This  principle  he  calls,  like 
most  other  persons,  conscience,  and  regards  its  per- 
ceptions as  immediate ;  but  he  does  not  exactly  define 
his  idea  of  its  nature,  and  leaves  it  doubtful  whether 
he  considered  it  a  sense,  or  a  rational  faculty.  Thus 
far,  his  ideas  have  been  adopted  by  the  philosophers 
who,  after  him,  have  taught  the  doctrine  of  a  moral 
sense  in  a  systematic  form. 

Butler,  gentlemen,  was  a  preacher,  and  Shaftesbury 
a  man  of  the  World,  while  Hutcheson  was  a  meta- 
physician by  profession.  It  is  not  remarkable,  there- 
fore, that  the  doctrine,  which  the  two  former  merely 
indicated,  should  have  received  from  the  latter  a  full 
development  under  a  precise  and  philosophic  form. 
Shaftesbury  and  Butler  suggested  the  idea,  Hutcheson 
formed  the  system,  of  the  moral  sense. 

Hutcheson  was  an  Irishman,  and  a  contemporary 
of  Butler's.  His  system  may  be  found  exhibited  in 
several  different  works  ;  but  I  shall  mention  only  the 
first  and  last  of  these,  because  they  will  show  us 
the  earliest  and  the  latest  forms  which  it  assumed. 
The  first  is  entitled  "  An  Inquiry  into  our  Ideas  of 
Beauty  and  Virtue ;"  the  last,  "  A  System  of  Moral 


184  JOUFFROY. 

Philosophy."  It  was  not  published  till  after  the 
author's  death. 

The  first  point  which  Hutcheson  endeavors  to 
establish  is,  that  we  desire  the  happiness  of  others 
directly  and  for  its  own  sake,  as  we  do  our  own ; 
so  that  benevolence  can  no  more  be  explained  by 
selfishness,  than  selfishness  can  by  benevolence.  To 
prove  this,  he  reviews  the  various  explanations  which 
have  been  given  of  benevolence,  arid  shows  that  they 
have  successively  misstated  and  falsified  the  facts. 
We  desire  the  good  of  others,  he  says,  not  because 
this  desire  is  agreeable  to  ourselves,  nor  because  it  is 
morally  approved  by  us;  not  because,  by  benefiting 
others,  we  secure  our  own  good,  nor  because  God 
will  reward  us ;  and  neither  is  it  because  the  prospect 
of  another's  happiness  is  pleasing,  and  the  sight  of  his 
sufferings  painful.  But  we  desire  it  because  we  have 
d  primitive  affection,  which  seeks  the  good  of  others 
as  its  final  end.  Benevolence  is  a  simple  and  original 
impulse,  and  cannot  be  resolved  into  any  other. 

We  have,,  therefore,  two  distinct  classes  of  affections, 
of  which  the  first  impels  us  to  seek  our  own  good, 
and  the  second  the  good  of  our  fellow-beings. 

But  these  are  not  the  only  affections  in  our  nature. 
There  is  a  third,  which  is  distinct  from  both  :  it  is 
the  moral  affection.  The  idea  of  moral  good  is 
different  from  the  idea  of  our  own  good,  and  from 
that  of  another's  good ;  it  cannot  be  explained  by 
them;  it  is  primitive  and  simple. 

Hutcheson  proves  this  second  proposition  as  he 
did  the  first,  and  shows  successively,  that,  by  moral 
good,  we  do  not  mean  that  which  gives  us  pleasure 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  185 

by  gratifying  our  benevolence  ;  nor  that  which  is  good 
in  its  effects  on  others  ;  nor  that  which  is  useful  to 
ourselves  ;  nor  that  which  is  pleasing  to  a  spectator ; 
nor  that  which  is  conformable  to  the  will  of  God, 
or  to  order,  truth,  or  law  ;  nor,  in  a  word,  any  other 
idea  except  the  exact  one  which  the  name  expresses, 
and  which  is  as  simple,  as  primitive,  and  as  inexplica- 
ble, by  any  other,  as  are  the  ideas  of  taste  or  smell. 

From  this  view  of  the  originality  and  simplicity 
of  the  idea  of  moral  good,  Hutcheson  concludes  that 
the  quality  represented  by  it  must  be  perceived  by 
some  sense,  because  all  other  simple  qualities  are 
perceived  by  particular  senses;  and  that  the  sense 
must  be  a  special  and  peculiar  one,  because  the  quality 
perceived  is  distinct  from  all  others. 

Two  facts  confirm  Hutcheson  in  this  opinion.  The 
first  is,  that  the  perception  of  this  quality  is  accom- 
panied by  a  pleasure,  which  is  a  peculiarity  of  all 
sensible  perceptions;  the  second  is,  that  moral  good 
appears  to  us  as  an  end  and  a  motive  for  action, 
whereas  the  understanding  cannot  discover  our  ends, 
nor  exercise  an  influence  over  the  will. 

I  wish  particularly,  gentlemen,  to  call  your  attention 
to  this  latter  point,  as  the  opinion  is  one  held  in 
common  by  all  the  philosophers  of  the  instinctive 
school  without  exception,  and  as  they  are  led  by  it 
to  seek  in  the  sensibility,  and  not  in  reason,  the 
principle  of  disinterestedness.  On  some  other  occa- 
sion, I  will  explain  their  views  of  the  foundation  of 
this  principle,  and  of  the  motives  in  which  it  originates. 
To-day,  I  limit  myself  to  a  simple  statement  of  the 


186  JOUFFROY. 

fact,  that  they  find  this  disinterested  principle  in  the 
sensibility. 

Moral  goodness,  then,  according  to  Hutcheson,  is 
perceived  by  a  sense,  and  this  perception  is  accom- 
panied by  a  pleasure,  while  the  perception  of  moral 
evil  is  accompanied  by  pain.  But  this  pleasure  is 
the  consequence  of  the  quality  perceived,  and  presup- 
poses it ;  we  cannot,  therefore,  resolve  moral  goodness 
into  this  pleasure,  nor  thus  account  for  our  approval 
of  it ;  for  this  would  be  to  resolve  the  cause  into  the 
effect,  and  to  explain  the  principle  by  the  consequence. 

Hutcheson  calls  this  sense  the  moral  sense,  and 
to  him  it  is  chiefly  owing,  that  this  name,  invented 
first  by  Shaftesbury,  has  become  so  popular.  As  the 
qualities  which  it  is  fitted  to  perceive  are  to  be  found 
only  in  the  dispositions  of  our  minds,  and  the  actions 
thence  resulting,  this  sense  must  be  an  internal,  not 
an  external  one.  And  it  is  not  the  only  sense  of  this 
kind  admitted  by  our  philosopher :  he  recognizes 
several  others,  and,  in  the  first  part  of  his  work, 
demonstrates,  by  a  similar  course  of  reasoning,  the 
existence  of  a  sense  of  beauty,  whose  function  it  is 
to  perceive  the  original  and  simple  quality  of  beauty. 
This  peculiarity  of  being  internal  is  the  only  difference 
to  be  perceived  between  this  class  of  senses  and  the 
external  senses.  Although  Hutcheson  declares  that 
they  are  not  of  the  same  low  and  gross  nature  with 
these  external  senses,  yet  he  subjects  them  to  the 
same  laws,  and  clothes  them  with  the  same  attributes. 
Thus  the  moral  sense  is  a  faculty  of  the  sensibility ; 
it  is  affected  directly  by  the  moral  quality  of  acts, 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  187 

as  the  taste  is  by  flavors ;  it  is  accompanied  also  by 
agreeable  and  disagreeable  sensations,  and  by  desire 
or  repugnance  —  though  Hutcheson  does  endeavor  to 
disguise  this  latter  fact  under  the  names  of  approba- 
tion or  disapprobation;  and,  finally,  the  moral  sense, 
like  all  the  other  senses,  is  capable  of  being  improved. 

Hutcheson  ascribes,  however,  to  the  moral  sense, 
the  most  important  offices.  It  is  destined,  as  he 
thinks,  to  govern  all  the  faculties  of  our  nature. 
Hutcheson  would  have  done  much  to  establish  his 
system,  if  he  had  shown  the  origin  of  this  authority 
of  the  moral  sense;  but,  unfortunately,  his  whole 
proof  reduces  itself  to  saying  that  we  have  a  direct 
consciousness  of  it.  Now,  it  is  true  that  we  are 
conscious  that  each  sense  is  a  supreme  judge  in  all 
matters  relative  to  the  peculiar  quality  which  it  is 
fitted  to  perceive,  and  that,  in  so  far,  it  does  govern 
our  other  faculties ;  but  this  would  be  placing  the 
moral  quality  in  the  same  rank  with  odors,  flavors, 
beauty,  and  the  moral  sense  would  have  a  sovereignty 
no  more  extensive  than  the  senses  of  beauty,  smell, 
and  taste.  But  this  is  not  what  consciousness  declares 
to  be  the  fact.  Consciousness  testifies,  that  moral 
good  is  an  end  superior  to  all  other  ends,  and  to  which 
all  other  ends  should  be  subordinate.  This,  which 
Hutcheson  should  have  attempted  to  explain,  he  con- 
tents himself  with  simply  affirming  ;  and  the  reason 
why  the  moral  end  should  be  pursued,  in  preference 
to  all  others,  remains  undiscovered. 

Having  thus  proved,  as  he  thinks,  the  reality  of  the 
moral  sense,  Hutcheson  proceeds  to  determine  what 
are  the  dispositions  of  our  souls  in  which  this  sense 


188  JOUFFROY. 

discovers  moral  goodness,  and  which,  consequently, 
it  approves ;  and  he  explicitly  excludes  from  this 
number  all  which  have  for  their  end  our  own  well- 
being.  According  to  his  idea,  our  acts  are  wholly 
wanting  in  the  character  of  virtue,  if  we  have  any 
reference,  in  what  we  do,  to  our  own  good.  They 
may  be  innocent,  perhaps,  but  they  cannot  be  virtuous. 
From  this  it  would  seem  to  result,  that  the  benevolent 
dispositions  and  actions  only  are  the  objects  of  moral 
approbation  —  and  such  was  actually  the  opinion  of 
Hutcheson  —  at  the  same  time  that  he  associates  with 
these  other  dispositions,  such  as  the  love  of  truth, 
and  the  desire  of  perfection,  which  he  describes  but 
vaguely,  and  the  recognition  of  which  does  not  prevent 
him  from  saying  that  universal  benevolence  constitutes 
moral  excellence,  and  that  the  morality  of  acts  is 
exactly  proportioned  to  the  degree  in  which  they 
possess  this  quality. 

The  function  of  reason,  according  to  such  a  system 
as  this,  is  to  contrive  and  employ  the  necessary  means 
for  the  attainment  of  the  different  ends,  which  our 
desires  and  our  senses  make  known  on  the  one  hand, 
and  impel  us  to  seek  on  the  other.  Excluded  from 
the  privilege,  attributed  exclusively  to  the  sensibility, 
of  determining  the  proper  ends  for  conduct,  and  of 
directly  influencing  the  will,  it  is  only  a  humble 
servant  of  instinct.  Its  only  office  is  to  discover  the 
course  proper  for  the  executive  power  to  pursue,  in 
securing  the  ends  which  instinct  reveals ;  and,  as  you 
may  see,  it  is  an  office  of  quite  secondary  importance. 

Thus,  then,  there  are,  in  our  nature,  two  kinds 
of  instincts,  personal  and  benevolent;  and,  in  addition. 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  189 

a  moral  sense,  which  perceives  immediately,  in  dispo- 
sitions and  acts,  their  moral  good  or  evil,  recognizing 
good  only  in  those  dispositions  which  have  for  their 
end  the  happiness  of  fellow-beings,  and  in  acts  pro- 
ceeding from  these  dispositions  :  such,  in  a  few  words, 
is  the  moral  system  of  Hutcheson.  In  the  moral  sense 
alone  resides  the  principle  of  moral  appreciation. 
As  to  the  motive  of  virtuous  volitions,  Hutcheson 
is  no  more  precise  than  Shaftesbury ;  but,  as  he 
unhesitatingly  declares  that  the  moral  sense  is  a  purely 
perceptive  faculty,  and  as  he  recognizes  that,  like 
all  the  other  senses,  it  exercises  an  influence  over 
the  will,  we  cannot  doubt  that  he  considered  the 
moral  sense  to  be  the  moral  motive.  A  virtuous 
volition,  therefore,  is  derived,  according  to  Hutcheson, 
from  the  action  of  the  peculiar  dispositions  approved 
by  the  moral  sense,  combined  with  the  action  of  this 
sense  itself;  and  it  is  this  latter  element  which  com- 
municates to  the  act  of  will  a  moral  character. 

After  Hutcheson,  Hume,  gentlemen,  is  the  last  teach- 
er, among  the  English,  of  this  doctrine  of  the  moral 
sense,  of  whose  works  I  shall  speak ;  and  I  am  not 
led  to  mention  them  from  the  fact  that  he  is  so 
celebrated  as  a  metaphysician ;  for  the  moral  system 
of  Hume  would  have  well  deserved  to  be  considered, 
as  the  most  ingenious  of  all  which  have  professed 
the  doctrine  of  the  moral  sentiment,  even  if  its 
author  had  not  been  the  founder  of  modern  skepti- 
cism, and  one  of  the  most  original  thinkers  of  modern 
times.  It  is  in  his  work  entitled  "  An  Inquiry  into 
the  Principles  of  Morals,"  that  he  has  explained  his 
views.  His  course  of  reasoning  is  as  follows:  — 


190  JOUFFROY. 

What  we  have  first  of  all  to  determine,  he  says, 
is  the  quality  represented  by  the  expression  moral 
good  —  the  quality  which  renders  the  dispositions, 
acts,  and  characters,  in  which  it  is  found,  proper 
objects  of  moral  approbation.  Our  only  mode  of 
doing  this  is  to  consult  experience,  he  continues; 
and  then,  passing  in  review  the  various  acts  and 
dispositions  which  common  sense  pronounces  morally 
good,  and  which  men  agree  in  approving,  and  seeking 
the  common  quality  possessed  by  all,  he  finds,  as  he 
thinks,  that  it  is  utility.  But  utility  of  what  kind  ? 
Utility  to  the  agent,  or  to  one  man  in  preference 
of  another?  No;  but  general  utility,  or  a  tendency 
to  produce  a  greater  or  less  amount  of  good,  whatever 
may  be  the  number  and  quality  of  the  persons  bene- 
fited by  its  production. 

To  determine  with  exactness  the  truth  of  this 
principle,  Hume  examines,  in  a  variety  of  ways, 
the  dictates  of  experience.  There  are  degrees  in 
moral  approbation ;  some  dispositions  and  acts  are 
more,  others  less,  approved.  Now,  is  moral  appro- 
bation proportioned  to  their  utility?  Hume  proves 
that  it  is,  and  shows  that  approbation  increases  or 
lessens  with  the  perceived  utility  of  acts  and  dispo- 
sitions, and  that  there  is  always  a  parallelism  between 
them.  Thus  may  be  explained,  he  says,  the  appro- 
bation so  generally  accorded  to  the  benevolent  dis- 
positions. As  these  affections  tend  to  the  happiness 
of  others,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  happiness  of  many, 
and  sometimes  of  all,  while  personal  affections  tend 
to  the  happiness  of  one  only,  that  is  to  say,  of  the 
agent  —  the  first  are  more  useful  than  the  second, 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  191 

and,  therefore,  we  approve  them  more.  This  inge- 
nious theory  has  the  merit  of  not  only  explaining 
the  rank  which  the  benevolent  affections  occupy  in 
the  moral  scale,  but  of  leaving  room  also  for  the 
personal  affections.  As  you  may  see,  Hume  does 
not  condemn  all  of  these  latter  dispositions ;  his 
system  allows  him  to  approve  them ;  for  they  are 
useful  to  one  person,  the  agent.  They  become  un- 
worthy of  approbation  only  when  we  sacrifice  to 
them  the  benevolent  affections.  And  why  are  they 
unworthy  in  this  case?  Because  then,  by  preferring 
our  own  good  to  that  of  others,  we  prefer  what  is 
least  useful,  while  it  is  our  duty  to  prefer  what  is 
most  useful.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  disapprove 
the  exclusive  pursuit  of  personal  good;  but,  in  itself, 
we  approve  it,  as  may  be  clearly  seen  from  the  esti- 
mation in  which  we  hold  many  qualities,  on  the 
ground  that  they  are  well  calculated  to  secure  indi- 
vidual happiness  —  prudence,  skill,  economy,  for 
instance.  In  so  far  as  these  are  useful,  they  are 
morally  good ;  but  even  that  which  is  useful  may 
become  an  object  of  disapprobation,  when  it  is  pre- 
ferred to  something  yet  more  useful. 

If  utility  is  the  true  object  of  approbation,  its 
opposite  must  be  the  object  of  disapprobation.  And, 
from  the  testimony  of  experience,  Hume  verifies  this 
second  proposition.  He  proves,  that  whatever  wre 
disapprove  is  seen  to  be  either  directly  or  indirectly 
noxious ;  and  that  our  disapprobation  is  always  pro- 
portioned to  the  amount  of  evil  which  the  act  or 
disposition  disapproved  tends  to  produce,  or  the  amount 
of  good  which  it  tends  to  prevent. 


192  JOUFFROY. 

An  analysis  of  the  qualities  which  compose  and 
constitute  what  we  call  the  personal  merit  of  a  man 
furnishes  him  with  another  confirmation  of  his  theory 
as  to  the  object  of  moral  approbation.  This  analysis 
leads  him  to  the  conclusion  that  every  element  of  the 
moral  merit  of  men  may  be  resolved  into  some  usefu1 
or  agreeable  quality. 

Hume  explains  very  ingeniously  the  reason  why 
moral  acts  meet  with  sympathy  and  support  from 
others,  while  acts  having  a  personal  reference  do  not. 
"What  makes,  he  asks,  an  act  moral  ?  The  fact  that 
it  is  in  its  tendency  useful.  What,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  the  characteristic  of  acts  of  a  personal  nature  ? 
Utility  to  the  agent.  Now,  what  is  for  the  good  of  one 
may  not  be  for  the  good  of  another ;  indeed,  it  often 
may  be  a  source  of  ill ;  it  is  apparent,  therefore,  that 
men  will  disagree  when  they  are  contemplating  any  act 
in  view  of  its  private  utility,  because  this  utility  is  rela- 
tive. This  is  not  the  case,  however,  with  any  thing 
which  is  useful  in  itself;  a  tendency  to  multiply  good 
is  a  quality  which  all  men  can  equally  perceive  ;  and 
when  the  question  has  reference,  not  to  the  effects  on 
particular  individuals,  but  to  the  general  effects  of 
acts,  all  men  will  agree  in  judgment.  Now,  this  is 
precisely  the  point  of  view  in  which  utility  is  regarded 
in  our  moral  volitions ;  and  this  is  the  very  distinc- 
tion between  them  and  selfish  volitions.  It  is  nowise 
astonishing,  therefore,  that  others  sympathize  with  the 
former,  and  give  us  their  approval  and  aid,  while 
they  are  indifferent  or  even  opposed  to  the  latter.  It 
is  natural  that  they  should  do  so. 

From  these  few  examples,  gentlemen,  you  can  com- 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  193 

prebend  Hume's  method,  and  the  course  of  reasoning 
by  which  he  attempts  to  prove  experimentally  his  doc- 
trine, that  in  dispositions  and  acts,  in  character  and 
conduct,  it  is  utility,  and  utility  alone,  that  we  call 
good,  and  that  utility,  therefore,  is  the  special  object 
of  moral  approbation. 

But  this  is  only  a  statement  of  a  fact,  and  the 
reason  for  our  approval  of  what  is  useful  and  our 
disapproval  of  the  opposite  remains  to  be  explained  ; 
it  remains  to  be  accounted  for  why  we  call  the  one 
good  and  the  other  bad.  This  is  the  moral  problem. 
We  have  learned  that  a  particular  quality  is  the 
object  of  moral  approbation ;  we  are  now  to  inquire 
why  it  is  the  object? 

Reason,  says  Hume,  may,  indeed,  determine,  and 
does  determine,  what  is  useful  or  injurious  to  men ; 
but  the  fact  that  we  approve  the  one  and  disapprove 
the  other  must  be  owing  to  some  primitive  sentiment 
which  makes  us  prefer  the  useful  to  the  injurious,  just 
as  another  sentiment  makes  us  like  what  is  sweet  and 
dislike  what  is  bitter.  There  is  an  instinct  in  our 
nature,  therefore,  which  is  agreeably  affected  by  the 
prospect  of  utility,  and  disagreeably  affected  by  that 
of  the  opposite.  This  instinct  is  not  self-love,  for 
self-love  makes  us  prize  only  what  is  useful  to  our- 
selves, and  not  that  which  is  useful  in  itself;  while  it 
is  that  which  is  useful  in  itself,  and  independently 
of  our  own  interest,  which  is  the  object  of  moral 
approbation.  This  instinct  is  a  peculiar  one,  there- 
fore, and  quite  distinct  from  the  selfish  instinct,  to 
which,  indeed,  it  is  frequently  opposed.  It  is  this  in- 
stinct or  sense  which  men  call  conscience,  or  the 

VOL.    II  R 


194  JOUFFROY. 

moral  faculty.  Hume  n panes  it  humanity;  because  it 
is  the  good  of  men  as  such,  and  independently  of  our 
own,  which  is  its  appropriate  object. 

You  will  observe,  gentlemen,  that,  while  consider* 
ing  utility  the  object  of  moral  approbation,  Hume 
still  does  not  profess  the  doctrine  of  selfishness,  and 
that  there  is  a  wide  distinction  between  his  system 
and  that  of  interest  well  understood,  to  which  it  has 
sometimes  been  considered  to  be  assimilated.  Moral 
good  is  absolute  utility,  not  private  utility  :  and  moral 
approbation  i^  doubly  disinterested,  both  because  it 
is  instinctive  and  because  it  proceeds  from  a  different 
instinct  than  self-love. 

Like  all  other  advocates  of  the  doctrine  of  the  moral 
sense,  Hume  allows  some  obscurity  to  envelop  the 
motive  of  moral  volitions  ;  and  he  by  no  means  clearly 
distinguishes  humanity  as  the  principle  of  qualification 
from  humanity  as  the  motive  of  virtuous  volition.  No 
one  has  denied  more  decidedly  the  competency  of 
reason  to  assign  any  end  for  man,  or  to  exert  any 
influence  over  the  will.  We  are  determined,  there- 
fore, in  conduct,  when  we  do  right,  by  the  attractive 
influence  of  anticipated  utility,  and  by  the  sway  of 
those  dispositions  which  impel  us  to  seek  our  own 
good  and  the  good  of  others  —  dispositions  by  which 
the  action  of  the  moral  sense  is  always  seconded. 
As  to  what  is  commonly  called  moral  obligation, 
Hume  thinks  but  little  of  it,  and  considers  it  only  a 
conception  of  reason.  The  real  thing  represented  by 
the  name,  he  thinks,  is  the  obvious  and  just  view,  that 
happiness  can  be  more  surely  obtained  by  following  the 
impulses  of  the  moral  sense  than  by  obeying  the  die- 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  195 

tates  of  self-interest.  The  idea  of  obligation  could 
not,  as  you  see,  be  more  completely  disfigured ;  it  is 
a  necessity,  indeed,  of  the  instinctive  system,  that  it 
should  be,  and  notwithstanding  all  his  power  of 
thought,  Hume,  like  all  other  philosophers  of  the,, 
same  school,  has  been  guilty  of  this  error. 

I  should  expose  myself,  perhaps,  to  your  reproach, 
if,  in  this  rapid  notice  of  the  various  philosophers  who 
have  taught  the  doctrine  of  the  moral  sentiment,  I 
should  entirely  pass  by  two,  whose  names  have  ob- 
tained celebrity,  and  with  whom  the  idea  of  this 
system  is  always  associated.  I  allude  to  Rousseau 
and  Jacobi.  A  few  words  will  suffice  for  a  descrip- 
tion of  their  moral  opinions,  and  will  show  that  I 
have  good  reason  for  assigning  them  only  a  secondary 
place  in  this  lecture. 

The  confession  of  faith  of  the  Vicaire  Savoyard 
is  not  only  an  admirable  work  in  point  of  style,  but, 
yet  more,  for  the  profoundness  and  truth  of  its  ideas, 
deserves  justly  to  be  considered  a  philosophic  pro- 
duction of  the  highest  order.  Unfortunately,  however, 
the  moral  portion  of  this  book,  although  perhaps  the 
most  beautiful  in  expression,  is  also  incomparably  the 
most  obscure,  and  Rousseau's  other  writings  furnish 
no  clew  by  which  we  can  interpret  the  indefiniteness 
of  his  ideas,  as  exhibited  in  this  confession  of 
faith. 

Rousseau  declares,  in  various  ways,  that  the  knowl- 
edge of  good  and  evil  is  communicated  by  reason  ; 
but  that  it  is  by  the  influence  of  an  inward  affection, 
which  he  calls  conscience,  that  we  are  impelled  to 
seek  the  one  and  avoid  the  other.  The  moral  desire, 


196  JOtJFFROY. 

he  says,  sleeps  in  us  in  childhood,  because  the  idea 
of  moral  good  is  not  then  conceived;  and  for  this 
reason,  man  is  incapable  of  morality  and  of  liberty 
before  reason  is  developed.  There  is  perfect  con- 
sistency so  far,  and  nothing  could  be  clearer  than 
this  doctrine.  But  when  he  proceeds  to  describe  the 
discovery  of  good  by  reason  on  the  one  side,  and 
the  sovereign  power  of  conscience  on  the  other,  he 
loses  sight  of  this  distinction  between  their  functions, 
and  assigns  to  each  principle  the  double  duty  both 
of  making  us  acquainted  with  the  good,  and  of  im- 
pelling us  to  its  observance.  On  the  one  hand,  reason 
is  presented  as  the  faculty  which  frees  the  human  will 
from  the  blind  impulses  of  instinct,  and  gives  it  liberty 
by  subjecting  it  to  the  sway  of  the  obligatory  laws 
of  order.  On  the  other  hand,  conscience,  or  sentiment, 
is  pointed  out  as  the  infallible  instinct,  which  it  is 
only  necessary  for  us  to  listen  to  to  distinguish  be- 
tween good  and  evil,  and  whose  decisions  far  surpass 
the  uncertain  and  contradictory  speculations  of  intel- 
lect. There  are  admirable  passages,  in  which  Rous- 
seau adopts  wholly  the  view  of  rational  morality,  and 
others,  equally  admirable,  where  he  supports  the  prin- 
ciple of  instinctive  morality.  These  passages  cannot, 
I  think,  be  reconciled ;  and  it  seems  to  me,  therefore, 
that  those  who  class  Rousseau  in  the  sentimental 
school,  have  attributed  to  his  ideas  more  precision 
than  they  really  possess.  All  that  can  be  said  of  him 
is,  that,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  passages  in  his 
earlier  writings,  he  is  the  declared  opponent  of  the 
morality  of  self-interest.  No  one  has  more  trium- 
phantly established  the  existence  of  innate  benevolent 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  MORAL  SENSE.         197 

affections,  and  the  reality  of  virtuous  volitions,  after 
reason  has  once  conceived  the  idea  of  order.  We  can 
say  decisively,  therefore,  what  theory  Rousseau  did 
riot  admit  in  morals ;  but  it  is  impossible,  on  the  other 
hand,  as  it  seems  to  me,  to  determine  with  precision 
vhat  theory  he  did  actually  adopt. 

As  to  Jacobi,  gentlemen,  to  the  many  other  points 
of  resemblance  which  may  be  traced  between  him 
and  Rousseau,  as  writers,  must  be  added  the  indeci- 
siveness  and  obscurity  with  which  he  expressed  his 
ideas  upon  the  principles  of  morality.  But  this  inde- 
cision originated  from  a  different  source.  Rousseau 
was  a  metaphysician  only  by  accident,  and  evidently 
was  unconscious  of«the  contradiction  with  which  he 
might  justly  have  been  charged  as  to  the  great  moral 
questions.  The  case  was  quite  different  with  Jacobi, 
of  whom  it  may  be  said  that  it  was  because  he  had 
so  deeply  meditated  upon  this  problem,  and  other 
problems  which  it  involves,  and  so  fully  comprehended 
all  their  difficulties,  that  he  refused  to  express  his 
thought  with  precision.  He  seems  to  me  to  have 
preferred  obscurity  of  expression  to  error.  Jacobi, 
however,  was  decided  on  one  point  —  that  he  was  un- 
willing to  consider  the  idea  of  moral  good  as  a  result 

of  the  investigations   of  intellect :    this   idea   he    con- 

s 

sidered  immediate  and  simple ;  but  whether  this  idea 
is  to  be  referred,  as  the  Scottish  school  have  thought, 

J  O         ' 

to  an  intuition  of  reason,  or,  as  the  philosophers  of 
the  sentimental  school  believe,  to  an  instinct  of  the 
'sensibility, —  an  instinct,  which  is  either  an  affection, 
like  sympathy,  or  rather  a  sense,  as  Hutcheson  sup- 
poses, —  is  a  point  upon  which  Jacobi  is  undeter- 

R  2 


198  JOUFFROY. 

mined.  He  seems  earlier  in  life  to  have  inclined 
to  the  second  hypothesis,  and  in  his  later  years,  to 
the  first.  It  is  plain,  however,  that  he  never  decidedly 
expressed  his  opinion  upon  the  subject,  arid  that,  while 
a  view  of  some  facts  of  our  nature  seemed  to  lead  him 
to  espouse  one  side  of  the  question,  a  view  of  other 
facts  restrained  him.  It  is  as  difficult  to  classify 
Jacobi,  as  a  moralist,  as  it  is  Rousseau  ;  and  you  see, 
therefore,  my  reason  for  not  selecting  the  system 
of  either  as  illustrations  of  the  sentimental  theory. 

Let  me  say  a  word  further  as  to  a  doctrine  which 
deserves  notice  from  its  singularity.  It  is  that  of 
Mackintosh,  as  it  is  found  exhibited  in  his  recent 
work  on  the  "  Progress  of  EthicaJ  Philosophy." 

Mackintosh  is  a  professed  advocate  of  the  morality 
of  sentiment.  He  aSmits,  without  hesitation,  all  the 
fundamental  maxims  of  this  system ;  he  believes  in 
the  reality  of  disinterested  volitions,  and  denies  that 
reason  is  capable  either  of  assigning  any  end  for  con- 
duct, or  of  exerting  any  influence  over  the  will  ;  in 
his  view  —  to  express  all  in  a  few  words  —  moral  con- 
science is  a  sensible  principle.  But  he  is  distinguished 
by  this,  that,  in  his  opinion,  this  principle  is  not 
primitive ;  it  is  created  and  developed,  as  he  thinks, 
gradually  ;  or,  to  use  his  expression,  it  is  a  secondary 
formation.  You  will  easily  understand  his  meaning. 

Self-love,  as  you  know,  or  the  general  desire  which 
has  for  its  end  the  satisfaction  of  our  natural  tenden- 
cies, is  not  primitive  ;  it  presupposes  these  tendencies, 
or  the  pleasure  resulting  from  their  gratification,  since  • 
this  pleasure  is  its  end.  Self-love  is,  then,  a  principle 
or  secondary  formation.  Mackintosh  thinks  that  it 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  199 

is  the  same  with  conscience.  As  in  the  phenomenon 
of  self-love,  he  says,  the  desire,  which  was  primitively 
directed  to  certain  external  objects,  is  transferred  to 
the  pleasure  resulting  from  the  possession  of  these 
objects,  and  thus  what  was  the  end  becomes  the 
means ;  so,  in  the  phenomenon  of  conscience,  the 
agreeable  or  painful  sentiment  naturally  attending 
certain  emotions,  is  transferred,  by  association  of 
ideas,  to  the  volitions  and  acts  which  they  produce  ; 
and  thus,  in  the  end,  these  volitions  and  acts  become 
the  immediate  objects  of  our  love  or  repugnance.  By 
the  association  of  ideas,  then,  a  number  of  secondary 
desires  and  aversions  are  combined  together  in  our 
minds,  whose  appropriate  and  peculiar  objects  are  our 
volitions ;  and  the  aggregate  of  these  is  a  kind  of 
inward  sense,  which  we  call  conscience,  and  which, 
without  any  consideration  of  the  outward  results  of 
a  volition,  as  if  by  an  infallible  instinct,  approves  or 
blames  it  for  itself,  as  well  as  the  disposition  im- 
pelling us  to  form  this  volition,  and  the  act  in  which 
it  results.  The  sense  is  developed,  in  proportion  as 
minds  are  enriched  by  their  associations  with  a  greater 
or  less  number  of  these  primitive  desires  and  repug- 
nances; and  here  Mackintosh  finds  the  explanation 
of  the  infinitely  varied  development  so  observable 
in  the  consciences  of  men.  The  different  qualities 
recognized  by  common  sense  in  the  moral  faculties, 
seem  to  him  to  be  easily  explained  by  this  hypothesis ; 
they  are  all  derived,  according  to  him,  from  this  cir- 
cumstance, that  conscience  is  the  only  passion  which 
has  for  its  immediate  object  voluntary  acts.  It  re- 
sults from  this  view,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  can 


200  JOUFFROY. 

be  gratified  without  the  use  of  any  external  means, 
because,  to  obey  it,  it  is  only  necessary  that  we  will 
to  do  so;  secondly,  that  it  is  independent,  for  .its 
object  is  internal,  and  no  outward  cause  can  prevent 
its  satisfaction  ;  thirdly,  that  it  exerts  supreme  control 
over  the  character  and  conduct,  because  it  is  inter- 
mediate between  all  our  other  passions  and  their  in- 
strument of  gratification,  the  will,  while  no  other  pas- 
sion can  be  interposed  between  it  and  its  object ; 
fourthly,  that  to  violate  it  is  to  be  guilty  of  introdu- 
cing disorder  into  our  being,  because,  occupying  the 
position  which  has  been  described,  the  control  of  all 
our  volitions  evidently  appertains  to  it ;  fifthly,  that 
its  right  and  authority  to  command  is  universal,  and 
also,  since  it  can  be  gratified  by  a  simple  act  of 
will,  that  nothing  can  more  nearly  resemble  the  rela- 
tion of  a  commandment  to  obedience ;  and,  sixthly 
and  lastly,  that  it  is  immutable,  for,  as  it  employs  no 
means  to  accomplish  its  end,  it  can  never  be  altered 
by  the  substitution  of  the  means  for  the  end,  and,  as 
its  object  is  the  action,  it  can  never  be  diverted  from 
this,  its  appropriate  end,  into  becoming  a  means  to 
some  ulterior  end.  Such  are  the  tests  by  which 
Mackintosh  is  led  to  th£  conclusion  that  conscience, 
as  he  describes  it,  is  the  true  conscience,  and  that 
it  possesses  all  the  qualities  which  common  sense 
attributes  to  it.  Its  power  over  the  will  is  derived 
from  the  influence  peculiar  to  the  primitive  disposi- 
tions to  which  it  gives  control,  from  the  pleasure 
naturally  accompanying  the  development  of  their 
dispositions,  and  from  the  pleasure  produced  by  the 
gratification  of  this  secondary  disposition ;  for  a 


SYSTEM    OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE.  201 

pleasure  attends  the  satisfaction  of  the  secondary 
desires,  as  well  as  of  the  primitive  desires.  Such, 
in  a  few  words,  is  the  system  of  Mackintosh;  and, 
as  you  can  see  at  a  glance,  in  thus  making  conscience 
a  derived  sense,  it  is  open  to  all  the  objections  to 
which  the  systems  making  it  a  primitive  sense  are 
exposed. 

I  have  given  you,  gentlemen,  this  rapid  sketch 
of  the  various  systems,  that  you  may  be  made  familiar 
with  this  remarkable  form  of  the  instinctive  system, 
called  the  doctrine  of  the  moral  sense.  In  my  next 
lecture,  I  shall  discuss,  in  a  more  general  manner, 
the  essential  elements  of  the  system  of  instinct,  and 
then  pass  to  a  consideration  of  rational  systems  of 
ethics.  With  an  exposition  of  these  I  shall  close  this 
review,  which  may  seem  to  you  already  a  prolonged 
one,  but  the  advantages  of  which  you  will  recognize 
and  admit,  when  we,  in  our  turn,  attempt  to  explain 
the  true  principle  of  moral  estimates,  and  the  true 
motive  of  moral  volitions. 


202  JOUFFROY. 


LECTURE    XX. 

THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM     CONCLUDED. 

GENTLEMEN, 

THUS  far  I  have  limited  myself  to  a  con 
sideration  of  the  instinctive  system  in  itself;  and 
the  only  way  in  which  I  have  attempted  to  refute  it 
has  been  to  require  an  explanation  of  those  moral 
ideas  for  whose  origin  every  system  of  ethics  must 
account.  My  mode  of  reasoning  with  Smith  has 
been  as  follows:  —  Moral  ideas  exist  in  the  human 
mind  :  your  system  attempts  to  account  for  them : 
it  does  riot  succeed  in  giving  this  explanation ;  there- 
fore is  it  false ;  and  your  description  does  not  corre- 
spond with  the  real  facts  of  human  nature. 

In  the  present  lecture,  I  will  first  review,  in  a 
few  words,  the  leading  steps  of  the  argument  by 
which  the  system  has  been  already,  refuted,  and  then 
proceed  to  another  mode  of  refutation,  which  is, 
perhaps,  more  intelligible  and  more  useful.  This 
mode  is,  to  compare  the  instinctive  system  with  actual 
moral  phenomena,  and  thus  show  what  truths  or  errors 
it  includes,  under  any  form  which  it  may  assume. 
Our  discussion  of  this  large  class  of  moral  systems 
will  then  be  finished. 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM      CONCLUDED.          233 

The  instinctive  system  is  the  result. of  two  different 
prejudices  —  the  one  against  the  system  of  selfishness, 
the  other  against  that  of  reason.  Instinctive  philoso- 
phers have  all  manifested  these  two  prejudices  ;  but, 
while  the  first  may  be  seen  equally  in  all,  the  second 
has  been  prominently  developed  only  in  a  few.  Of 
this  number  are  Hume  and  Hutcheson ;  in  whose 
works  the  twofold  conviction,  that  there  are  disin- 
terested volitions  in  the  human  soul,  and  yet  that 
reason  is  not  the  principle  of  these  volitions,  is  always 
apparent. 

The  instinctive  philosophers,  if  you  will  permit  me, 
gentlemen,  still  to  use  this  expression,  say,  in  their 
opposition  to  the  selfish  system,  that  to  place  the 
motive  of  human  volitions  in  self-love  is  to  assert 
that  all  volitions  are  interested,  and  to  resolve  all 
kinds  of  good  into  private  good  ;  or,  in  other  words, 
it  is  to  suppose  that  we  have  no  idea  of  any  other 
good.  Now,  say  the  instinctive  philosophers,  observa- 
tion contradicts  these  two  propositions :  there  are 
in  the  soul  disinterested  volitions  —  for  we  do  not 
act  always  in  view  of  personal  well-being;  and,  since 
private  good,  therefore,  is  not  our  only  object,  we 
must  be  conscious  of  some  other  good.  The  selfish 
system  is  wrong,  therefore,  both  in  pretending  to 
explain  all  human  volition  by  self-love,  and  in  resolving 
all  ideas  of  good  into  that  of  our  own  private  good. 

This  is  the  opinion  which  all  authors,  who  under 
any  form  have  taught  the  instinctive  system,  have 
expressed  in  opposition  to  the  system  of  selfishness. 
Against  that  of  reason  they  bring  a  twofold  objection. 
Reason,  according  to  Hume  and  Hutcheson,  is  com- 


204  JOUFFROY. 

petent  to  show  us  things  as  they  are;  but  it  cannot 
make  us  acquainted  with  their  character  as  being 
good  or  evil.  For  goodness,  say  they,  is  essentially 
a  relative  quality :  if  any  thing  seems  good  to  a  being, 
it  is  because  there  is  a  particular  relation  between  it 
and  the  nature  of  this  being ;  if  it  seems  evil,  it  is 
because  there  is  a  different  relation  between  it  and 
the  same  nature.  This  relation,  in  the  first  case,  is 
one  of  harmony ;  in  the  second,  it  is  one  of  discord. 
Now,  how  shall  we  know  whether,  between  our  nature 
and  some  particular  thing,  the  first  or  the  second 
relation  exists,  or  neither  the  one  nor  the  other?  Our 
nature  can  alone  determine;  and  it  does  so  by  ex- 
periencing, at  sight  of  this  thing,  either  pleasure  and 
desire,  or  displeasure  and  repugnance,  or,  finally, 
neither  the  one  sentiment  nor  the  other.  If  we  were 
purely  intelligent  and  rational,  all  objects  would  re- 
main equally  indifferent  to  us.  Why  do  things  appear 
good  or  evil?  Only  because  some  are  agreeable  and 
some  disagreeable  to  our  nature;  or,  in  other  words, 
because  we  have  desires  which  they  disappoint  or 
gratify.  Undoubtedly,  the  selfish  system  is  deceived 
in  supposing  that  all  our  desires  are  personal,  and 
in  resolving  them  into  a  love  of  self;  but  it  is  a 
greater  error  still  to  admit,  for  the  purpose  of  avoiding 
the  selfish  view,  that  there  are  kinds  of  good  which 
cannot  be  known  through  sensibility.  Reason  is 
incapable  of  deciding  what  is  good  or  what  is  bad 
for  man ;  therefore  moral  distinctions  cannot  emanate 
from  it,  but  must  inevitably  emanate  from  instinct 
Such  is  the  first  objection  brought  by  the  instinctive 
philosophers  against  the  system  of  reason. 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM      CONCLUDED.          205 

The  second  is  as  follows :  —  That  which  seems 
to  us  neither  good  nor  evil  must  be  indifferent  to  us  : 
we  cannot,  therefore,  will  to  do  it ;  we  can  only 
will  to  do  what  seems  to  us  good,  and  to  refrain 
from  doing  what  seems  to  us  evil.  Now,  what  is 
the  faculty  which  perceives  good  and  evil  ?  Sensi- 
bility, and  not  reason.  No  conception  of  reason  can 
make  a  thing  seem  to  us  good  or  evil ;  therefore 
no  such  conception  can  act  upon  the  will ;  and,  as 
the  desires  of  sensibility  can  alone  discern  good  and 
evil,  each  motive  of  action  must  emanate  from  them. 
The  desires  of  sensibility  can  alone  act  upon  our 
will,  therefore,  and  the  ideas  of  reason  are  incompetent 
of  such  influence.  What  is  the  function  of  reason? 
When  once  a  good  is  revealed  by  an  instinct,  or 
craved  by  a  passion,  reason  can  discover  the  fit  means 
for  its  attainment,  can  make  us  acquainted  with  its 
necessary  consequences,  and  sometimes,  by  presenting 
one  side  of  the  object  rather  than  another  to  our 
attention,  can  excite  or  moderate  our  desire ;  this 
is  the  whole  office  of  reason.  Without  sensibility 
man  would  remain  in  a  state  of  perfect  indifference, 
and  no  motive  for  action  would  exist.  Reason,  there- 
fore, can  no  more  be  the  motive  for  volition  than 
the  principle  of  moral  distinctions.  Such  is  the 
second  objection  against  the  system  of  reason. 

You  see,  gentlemen,  how,  influenced  by  these  two 
prejudices,  the  instinctive  philosophers  are  led  to  seek 
in  our  natural  desires  both  the  source  of  our  ideas 
of  moral  good  and  evil,  and  the  motive  of  virtuous 
volitions;  and  hence,  too,  you  see  why  they  are 
obliged  to  oppose  both  the  selfish  system  —  which 

VOL.    II.  S 


20G  JOUFFROY. 

resolves  the  idea  of  moral  good  into  that  of  personal 
good,  and  refers  to  the  love  of  self  every  act  of 
will  —  and  the  rational  system  —  which  finds  in  reason 
the  source  of  moral  ideas  and  the  motive  of  moral 
volitions. 

But  now  let  us  observe  the  consequences  which 
ensue,  when  we  seek  in  natural  desire  the  idea  of 
moral  good,  and  the  motive  which  impels  us  to  its 
pursuit.  To  every  natural  desire  and  tendency  corre- 
sponds some  object  fitted  to  gratify  it,  towards  which 
we  are  impelled.  This  object  is  for  us  a  good,  be- 
cause whatever  is  agreeable  to  our  nature  is  good. 
Now,  if  this  is  true  of  all  our  desires,  —  and  it  cannot 
be  denied  of  any,  —  it  follows  that  there  must  be  as 
many  kinds  of  good  as  there  are  distinct  desires.  To 
our  personal  desires  correspond  certain  kinds  of  good  ; 
to  our  benevolent  desires  other  kinds  of  good  ;  and, 
as  our  desires,  both  of  a  personal  and  benevolent 
nature,  are  numerous,  there  must  necessarily  be  many 
of  these  kinds  of  good ;  for  all  are  adapted  to  some 
desire  of  our  nature,  and  we  are  impelled  to  seek  them 
all  by  some  instinct  with  which  we  are  endowed. 
There  is,  therefore,  a  perfect  equality  of  nature  be- 
tween these  different  kinds  of  good,  and  a  perfect 
equality  of  authority  between  our  different  desires. 

Imagine  now  some  instinctive  philosopher  —  Smith, 
Hume,  Hutcheson,  for  instance  —  seeking  among 
these  various  kinds  of  good,  which  have  all  the  same 
character,  the  moral  good,  that  is  to  say,  the  supreme 
good,  to  which  all  others  should  be  sacrificed ;  and, 
among  other  various  motives,  all  having  equal  author* 
ity,  the  moral  motive,  the  sovereign  motive,  to  which 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM      CONCLUDED.          207 

all  others  should  yield,  and  which  may  impose  duties 
and  obligations ;  —  and  conceive  of  his  embarrassment. 
He  is  to  find,  among  these  diverse  kinds  of  good, 
one  which  may  rightfully  be  placed  before  all  others, 
and  be  called  emphatically  the  true  good  ;  he  is  to 
find,  among  these  desires,  one  which  has  some  title 
of  sovereignty  over  all  others,  and  which  may  be 
recognized  as  obligatory.  Here  is  the  rock  upon 
which  the  instinctive  system  is  ever  in  danger  of  being 
wrecked  ;  and,  to  avoid  it,  the  advocates  of  the  system 
have  followed  two  different  courses  —  some  following 
Smith,  and  others  Hume. 

Now,  how  has  Smith  attempted  to  escape  this 
difficulty  ?  He  has  simply  selected,  from  these  various 
kinds  of  good,  one,  which  he  declares  to  be  the  moral 
good,  and  the  true  good ;  and,  among  the  different 
desires,  he  has  chosen  one,  which  he  calls  the  moral 
motive  —  the  motive  that  ought  to  control  all  other 
desires. 

But  by  what  sign  does  he  recognize,  in  this  par- 
ticular good,  the  true  good,  and,  in  the  motive  that 
impels  us  to  seek  it,  the  moral  motive  ?  When  we 
examine  Smith's  system  thoroughly,  we  find  that,  in 
the  last  analysis,  his  only  answer  to  the  question  is, 
that  this  good,  arid  consequently  this  motive,  coincide 
with  those  which  common  sense  calls  good  and  duty. 
Put  aside  the  specious  arguments  by  which  Smith 
seeks  to  justify  his  preference  of  this  good,  and  you 
will  find  that  he  actually  trusts  to  this  coincidence 
alone,  and  that  this  is  the  only  test  by  which  he 
determines  that  the  instinct  of  sympathy  is  the  moral 
good. 


208  JOUFFROY. 

As  you  will  recollect,  I  have  denied  this  coin 
cidence,  and  have  shown  that  Smith  himself  allows 
that  it  is  not  entire.  But  suppose  it  to  be  admitted  : 
what  then?  What  is  common  sense?  It  is  universal 
human  intelligence  —  the  intelligence  that  acts  in 
you,  in  me,  in  all  men.  If  common  sense,  then, 
affirms  that  the  particular  good  to  which  the  instinct 
of  sympathy  impels  us  is  the  true  good,  it  must 
be  because  human  intelligence  perceives,  in  this  par- 
ticular good,  some  quality,  which  makes  it  superior 
to  all  other  kinds  of  good,  or,  in  the  instinct  of  sym- 
pathy, some  mark  of  authority  entitling  it  to  be  obeyed 
in  preference  to  any  other  instinct.  But  if  the  human 
mind,  as  it  exists  in  men  at  large,  can  recognize 
these  signs,  surely,  in  a  distinguished  philosopher 
like  Smith,  it  cannot  fail  to  perceive  them.  Instead, 
therefore,  of  referring  us  to  common  sense,  it  would 
have  been  the  easier  way  to  point  out  at  once  these 
marks  of  superiority  in  the  instinct  of  sympathy. 
If  Smith  has  neglected  to  do  this,  it  is  because  it 
was  beyond  his  power.  And  his  reason,  therefore, 
for  considering  the  good  of  sympathy  the  true  good, 
is  a  pure  paralogism.  Instead  of  answering  the  ques- 
tion, this  is  but  postponing  it,  and  common  sense, 
no  more  than  Smith,  can  justify  the  preference  of  this 
good. 

Hume  and  Hutcheson  endeavor  to  avoid  this  diffi- 
culty in  a  very  different  way.  Their  mode  of  recog- 
nizing, among  the  various  kinds  of  good,  towards 
which  our  instincts  impel  us,  the  true  good,  is  this : 
they  invent  a  special  instinct  which  they  suppose 
to  be  agreeably  affected  by  particular  kinds  of  good. 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM      CONCLUDED.          209 

and  by  particular  instincts,  and  disagreeably  affected 
by  other  kinds  of  good  and  by  other  instincts.  We 
have  various  instincts,  to  which  correspond  various 
kinds  of  good ;  these  would  be  of  equal  authority 
and  value,  if  there  was  not  a  peculiar  instinct,  fitted 
to  judge  of  these  and  pronounce  some  good,  because 
agreeable  to  it,  and  others  bad,  because  disagreeable  ; 
and,  as  this  instinct  is  the  moral  sense,  it  follows  that 
whatever  pleases  it  is  morally  good,  and  whatever 
displeases  it  is  morally  bad.  Such  is  the  solution 
which  Hume  and  Hutcheson  have  given. 

As  this  new  and  peculiar  instinct  is  a  pure  inven- 
tion of  the  philosophers  who  assert  its  existence, 
nothing  can  be  easier,  of  course,  than  to  prove  that 
its  judgments  coincide  with  those  of  the  true  principle 
of  moral  distinctions;  and  if  Hutcheson  has  failed 
in  doing  this,  Hume,  with  greater  skill,  has  perfectly 
succeeded.  This  theory,  therefore,  is  not  liable  to 
the  first  objection  which  was  brought  against  that 
of  Smith ;  but  it  cannot  escape  the  second.  This 
moral  sense,  which  Hume  and  Hutcheson  have  in- 
troduced into  our  nature,  is  still  an  instinct ;  and, 
being  an  instinct,  the  good  that  it  impels  us  to  seek, 
is  only  one  of  the  kinds  of  good  which  our  nature 
craves,  and  can  have  no  preference  over  others ;  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  as  this  moral  sense  is  a  mere 
instinct,  it  must  be  equal,  and  no  more  than  equal, 
to  our  other  instincts ;  it  can,  therefore,  have  no 
authority  over  them,  and  cannot  rightfully  secure  the 
supremacy  of  the  desires  which  please  it,  nor  oppose 
the  sway  of  those  which  displease  it.  The  only  thing 
this  moral  sense  can  do,  is  to  lend  some  support 


210  JOUFFROY. 

to  those  desires  which  it  finds  agreeable ;  or,  in  other 
words,  we  may  be  impelled  towards  certain  kinds 
of  good,  not  only  by  the  instincts  peculiarly  related 
to  them,  but  by  the  moral  instinct  also,  with  which 
these  are  in  harmony.  But  of  what  consequence  is 
this?  The  adding  thus  a  new  impulse  to  those  al- 
ready acting,  is  not  to  give  them  authority;  for  au- 
thority is  something  very  different  from  force.  But 
even  this  superiority  of  force  does  not  necessarily 
follow  from  thus  multiplying  the  number  of  impulses  ; 
for,  oftentimes,  when  two  instincts  impel  us  toward 
some  object,  while  a  single  instinct  impels  us  toward 
another,  the  latter  prevails.  It  follows,  therefore,  that 
this  hypothesis  of  a  moral  sense  is  quite  as  inadequate 
as  that  of  Smith's,  and  does  not,  and  cannot,  account 
for  the  preference  accorded  to  a  particular  kind  of 
good,  nor  explain  why  a  particular  instinct  of  our 
nature  should  be  obeyed :  it  does  not  avoid,  therefore, 
the  difficulty  which  is  fatal  to  every  form  of  the 
instinctive  system. 

Such  are  the  two  great  classes  of  the  instinctive 
systems;  and,  as  you  see,  the  facts  of  our  moral 
nature  cannot  be  explained  by  the  hypothesis  of  either 
one  or  the  other.  On  the  one  hand,  there  is  no  nat- 
ural instinct  whose  impulses  exactly  coincide  with  *he 
judgments  of  the  moral  faculty;  and  thus  the  in- 
stinctive system  can  establish  such  a  coincidence  only 
by  an  arbitrary  invention  of  a  moral  sense,  opposed 
though  this  is  to  fact.  And,  on  the  other  hand, 
even  after  the  invention  of  this  peculiar  instinct, 
the  system  still  fails  to  explain  the  true  nature  of  our 
moral  notions ;  for  it  cannot  account  for  the  authority 


•  N^  Y  j 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM     CONCLUDED.         211 

which  the  moral  motive  possesses,  nor  for  the  legiti- 
macy attached  to  moral  good ;  and  thus  is  it  compelled 
either  to  deny  or  to  mutilate  the  ideas  of  law,  obli- 
gation, duty,  right,  and  all  others  associated  with 
them. 

Thus,  in  a  few  words,  have  I  described,  gentlemen, 
the  fundamental  principles  of  the  instinctive  system, 
and  stated  the  arguments  by  which  it  may  be  refuted, 
when  it  is  considered  merely  in  itself,  and  is  tested 
by  its  competency  to  account  for  the  ideas  whose 
origin  and  formation  every  moral  system  is  bound 
to  explain. 

But  now,  in  order  that  we  may  form  a  more  exact 
estimate  of  the  instinctive  system,  let  us  leave  this 
negative  view,  and,  comparing  it  with  the  facts  which 
it  pretends  to  explain,  show  in  what  respects  it  truly 
represents,  and  in  what  it  disfigures,  the  reality.  This 
is  the  only  way,  as  I  have  often  said,  by  which  we 
can  discover  the  foundation  of  this  system  in  human 
nature,  and  so  separate  the  elements  of  truth  and 
error  which  it  includes.  It  would  be  useless,  in 
instituting  this  comparison,  to  present  again  to  your 
consideration  the  facts  of  man's  moral  nature  :  I  have 
already  so  often  described  them  that  it  would  be 
wearisome  to  repeat  them  now:  you  have  before  you 
reality  on  the  one  side,  and  the  picture  of  reality 
presented  by  the  instinctive  system  on  the  other ;  anc 
you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  comprehending,  there- 
fore, the  scope  of  the  observations  which  I  am  now 
to  suggest. 

You  will  remember,  that,  of  the  three  modes  of 
volition  which  observation  makes  us  acquainted  with 


212  JOUFFROY. 

the  selfish  system  suppresses  two.  It  misconceives, 
first,  the  fact  that  reason  rises  to  the  conception  of  a 
good  superior  to  our  own  ;  and,  secondly,  the  fact  that 
our  natural  desires  seek  particular  objects  as  their 
final  end,  without  any  regard  to  the  satisfaction  and 
pleasure  which  the  acquisition  of  them  is  fitted  to 
produce.  The  psychological  error  of  the  instinctive 
system  is  less  gross;  for,  without  denying  the  selfish 
mode  of  volition,  it  asserts  the  reality  of  the  instinc- 
tive mode,  and  misconceives  only  the  nature  of  the 
rational  mode.  For  the  very  reason  that  it  sees  only 
the  selfish  mode  of  volition,  has  the  selfish  system 
perfectly  described  it,  and  brought  out  into  clear 
light  its  importance.  And  the  philosophers  of  the 
sentimental  school  have  rendered  a  like  service  in 
relation  to  the  instinctive  mode  of  volition  :  not  only 
have  they  succeeded  admirably  in  distinguishing  it 
from  the  selfish  mode  of  volition,  but  they  have  ex- 
hibited, in  all  their  extent  and  importance,  the  func- 
tions of  the  primary  and  secondary  desires,  in  the 
development  of  our  nature,  and  thus  have  greatly 
advanced  and  improved  the  branch  of  psychological 
science  which  treats  of  this  obscure  and  delicate 
portion  of  our  constitution.  For  this  the  philosophers 
of  the  instinctive  school  deserve  high  esteem  ;  and 
their  success  has,  perhaps,  been  owing  to  the  very 
mistake  into  which  they  fell.  If  they  had  recognized 
the  rational  mode  of  volition,  as  they  did  the  instinc- 
tive mode,  they  would  have  studied  the  latter  less 
profoundly ;  for  they  would  not  then  have  sought 
in  it  the  explanation  of  the  moral  phenomena,  whose 
origin  they  knew  to  be  elsewhere 


THE  SENTIMENTAL  SYSTEM   CONCLUDED.    213 

The  selfish  system,  by  suppressing,  as  it  did,  two 
modes  of  volition,  was  compelled  to  account  for  all 
the  facts  and  ideas  of  our  moral  nature  by  the  single 
mode  which  it  retained ;  and  in  this  it  undertook  a 
monstrous  enterprise,  which  could  issue  only  in  total 
failure.  The  course  which  the  instinctive  philoso- 
phers, on  the  contrary,  have,  by  their  suppression 
of  the  rational  mode  of  volition,  been  obliged  to  take, 
is  far  less  repugnant  to  the  moral  sense  of  humanity, 
and  conducts  to  consequences  far  less  likely  to  be 
abused.  When  we  tell  men  that  they  are  incapable 
of  disinterestedness,  our  assertion  shocks  their  feel- 
ings, because  it  is  directly  contradicted  by  the  testi- 
mony of  conscience.  But  when  a  system  admits  the 
reality  of  disinterestedness,  and  confines  itself  to  a 
simple  expression  of  belief  that  the  principle  of  this 
disinterestedness  is  in  the  sensibility,  and  not  in 
reason,  the  human  mind  perceives  nothing  in  the 
opinion  to  give  it  pain  ;  for,  though  the  fact  of  dis- 
interestedness is  most  evident  and  undeniable,  in  the 
consciousness  of  every  one,  its  source  and  origin  are 
hidden,  and  can  be  discovered  only  by  philosophical 
investigation.  The  instinctive  system,  asserting  the 
fact  of  disinterestedness,  coincides  with  the  common 
sense  of  all  mankind;  but,  misconceiving  the  nature 
of  the  rational  mode  of  volition,  it  explains  this  dis- 
interestedness by  instinct,  and  denies  the  explanation 
which  the  rational  system  offers.  I  repeat,  there  is 
nothing  in  this  to  shock  the  common  sense ;  and 
I  add,  that  although  actually  quite  as  inadequate 
as  the  selfish  system,  to  give  a  complete  explanation 
of  our  moral  ideas,  this  does  not  at  first  appear 


214  JOUFFROY. 

Many  facts  of  our  nature  lead  the  mind  easily  to  this 
solution  of  the  moral  problem,  and  many  others  seem 
to  confirm  it,  unless  they  are  analyzed  with  care.  In 
a  word,  the  sentimental  system  is  founded  upon  views, 
which,  though  erroneous,  still  include  such  truths  as 
might  well  mislead  even  candid  minds.  And  it 
becomes  my  duty,  now,  to  disengage  these  blended 
truths  and  errors.  I  will  do  so  in  a  few  words,  by 
limiting  myself  to  a  consideration  of  the  most  im- 
portant points. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  the  instinctive  philosophers 
all  admit  the  fact  of  disinterested  volitions,  and  all 
explain  it  by  our  natural  desires;  in  other  words, 
they  consider  our  instinctive  volitions  the  type  of 
disinterested  volition.  The  foundation  at  once  and 
the  fallacy  of  this  theory  may  be  easily  discerned. 
If,  by  disinterestedness  is  meant  simply  the  absence 
of  a  selfish  motive,  unquestionably  disinterestedness 
may  be  found  in  our  instinctive  volitions ;  for,  in 
yielding  to  our  passion,  we  have  regard  only  to  the 
particular  object  toward  which  we  are  impelled ;  and 
not,  as  in  the  case  of  selfish  volition,  to  the  greatest 
satisfaction  of  our  nature.  There  is  an  absence  of 
selfishness,  then,  in  our  purpose;  and  on  this  ground 
it  may  be  called  disinterested.  But,  gentlemen,  is 
this  what  is  really  meant  by  disinterestedness  ?  Far, 
very  far  from  it ;  for  this  is  purely  negative  in  char- 
acter, and  there  is  another  kind  of  disinterestedness 
which  is  positive,  whose  type  exists  only  in  the  moral 
volitions.  In  instinctive  volitions,  disinterestedness  is 
nothing  more  than  the  absence  of  an  interested  mo- 
five ;  in  moral  volitions,  disinterestedness  is  the  sao 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM     CONCLUDED.         215 

rifice  of  such  a  motive.  In  instinctive  volitions  the 
motive  is  personal,  although  the  agent  is  uncon- 
scious of  its  true  nature,  while  in  selfish  volitions 
he  is  conscious  of  its  being  personal ;  in  moral  voli- 
tions, on  the  contrary,  the  motive  is  impersonal,  and 
the  agent  knows  that  it  is  so.  This,  then,  is  true 
disinterestedness.  Though  free  from  selfishness,  in- 
stinctive volition  does  not  include  the  direct  opposite 
of  selfishness ;  this  is  to  be  found  only  in  moral 
volition ;  here  alone  is  to  be  seen  a  sacrifice  of 
self;  here  alone  is  manifested  that  wonderful  phe- 
nomenon of  a  being  interested  in  a  good  which 
belongs  not  to  himself,  and  which  he  pursues  even 
with  a  loss  of  his  own  good.  Devotedness  is  impos- 
sible in  instinctive  volition;  but  in  moral  volition 
there  is  always  devotedness,  even  when  absolute  good 
coincides  with  personal  good ;  for  the  act  is  performed 
with  reference  wholly  to  the  former.  The  instinctive 
^system  is  right,  therefore,  in  saying  that  instinctive 
volitions  are  not  interested ;  but  it  is  wrong  in 
supposing  that  it  finds  here  the  true  kind  of  disin- 
terestedness. The  notion  of  true  disinterestedness 
remains  unexplained,  therefore,  by  the  instinctive 
system  ;  and  thus  you  can  distinguish  what  is  true 
from  what  is  false,  in  its  first  fundamental  dogma. 

The  same  blending  of  truth  and  error  may  be 
observed  in  its  other  fundamental  dogma,  that  reason 
is  incapable  of  discovering  a  good,  this  being  the 
peculiar  prerogative  of  instinct.  Undoubtedly  it  is 
not  reason,  but  instinct,  which  reveals  to  me  what  my 
nature  desires,  and  what  is  agreeable  to  it ;  and,  if 
the  word  good  has  no  further  meaning  than  this,  the 


216  JOUFFROY. 

Instinctive  philosophers  are  correct  in  their  opinion. 
Reason  first  appears  in  the  sphere  of  instinct,  exactly 
as  it  does  in  that  of  selfishness,  empirically ;  for  the 
reasoning  of  self-love  is  wholly  empirical.  Its  opera- 
tion is  as  follows:  it  applies  itself  to  the  different 
objects  declared  to  be  good  by  instinct,  and  disen- 
gaging the  quality  which  they  have  in  common,  and 
which  constitutes  their  goodness,  —  that  is  to  say,  their 
fitness  to  gratify  a  want  of  our  nature,  and  to  be 
agreeable  to  it,  —  concentrates  in  this  quality  the  idea 
of  good,  previously  dissipated  by  instinct  among 
various  objects.  In  doing  this,  reason  does  not  create; 
it  only  separates  and  disengages  the  idea  of  good. 
Instinct,  then,  furnishes  not  only  all  the  elements 
of  this  good,  but  also  the  very  idea  itself;  in  other 
words,  good,  as  conceived  by  self-love,  is  that  which 
nature  desires ;  and  it  is  instinct  which  teaches  me, 
both  that  my  nature  has  desires,  and  that  certain 
objects  will  gratify  these  desires.  Thus  far,  then,  the 
instinctive  system  is  right  in  saying  that  reason  does 
not  discover  good;  and  it  would  be  entirely  right  if  this 
were  all.  But  reason  does  not  stop,  when  once  the  idea 
of  that  which  is  pleasing  to  my  nature,  and  of  that 
which  it  desires,  is  thus  formed  ;  it  goes  further,  and 
conceives  that  every  thing  has  an  end  ;  that  man  has  an 
end ;  and,  since  the  end  of  all  things  is  absolute  good, 
that  the  end  of  man,  as  one  of  its  elements,  is  also 
absolutely  good.  Here  reason  ceases  to  be  empirical, 
and  creates  :  this  idea  is  not  a  generalization  of  what 
instinct  has  communicated  ;  for  neither  the  universal 
conception  that  every  thing  has  an  end,  nor  the  con- 
ception that  the  ideas  of  this  end  and  of  good  are 


THE  SENTIMENTAL  SYSTEM   CONCLUDED.    217 

equivalent,  nor  the  application  of  these  two  concep- 
tions to  man,  are  deduced  from  instinct.  Such  con- 
ceptions are  universal  and  absolute ;  they  transcend 
such  knowledge  as  instinct  communicates,  and  can 
emanate  only  from  a  faculty  capable  of  universal  ideas, 
that  is,  pure  intuitive  reason.  These  conceptions  are 
incontestable  facts  in  our  nature ;  and  they  give  birth 
to  an  idea  of  good,  absolute  like  themselves,  from 
which,  in  turn,  emanates  an  idea  of  our  own  good, 
perfectly  distinct  from  that  which  arises,  and  which 
only  can  arise,  from  instinct.  This,  gentlemen,  is 
what  the  instinctive  philosophers  have  overlooked. 
And  one  thing  further  they  have  not  seen,  which  is, 
that  reason  assents  to  the  definition  of  good  given 
by  instinct,  because,  and  only  because,  it  is  coincident 
with  the  true  definition,  conceived  a  priori.  When 
once  the  idea  that  man  has  an  end,  and  that  this  is 
his  true  good,  is  conceived,  it  becomes  evident  to 
reason,  that  this  is  precisely  what  his  nature  desires, 
and  it  admits,  therefore,  that  this  end  desired  by 
nature  is  equivalent  to  his  true  good;  only  in  this 
view  are  they  truly  equivalent ;  and  it  is  because 
reason  admits  them  to  be  so,  and  only  when  it  admits 
this,  that  it  avails  itself  of  instinct  to  determine  our 
natural  end ;  for  though  reason  alone  can  reveal  to 
us  that  we  have  an  end,  and  that  this  end  is  our  good, 
it  is  still  instinct  which  makes  us  acquainted  with 
the  elements  of  this  end,  that  is  to  say,  with  the 
different  particular  ends  of  which  it  is  made  up. 
And  here  it  is  that  the  instinctive  philosophers  have 
chiefly  erred.  They  have  seen,  and  seen  correctly, 
that,  unless  our  nature  revealed  itself  by  the  desires, 

VOL.    II.  T 


2J8  JOUiTROY. 

reason  would  be  unable  to  conceive  of  our  end,  and, 
consequently,  of  our  good.  But  they  have  not  seen, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  reason  could  not  have  read 
this  revelation  in  our  desires  unless  it  had  previously 
known  that  we  have  an  end  ;  that  this  end  is  our  good  ; 
and  that  our  desires  make  this  end  known  ;  three 
ideas,  which  the  mere  observation  of  our  desires  would 
never  have  suggested,  and  which,  consequently,  rea- 
son must  have  deduced  from  itself.  So  far,  then,  is 
it  from  being  true,  that  reason  is  incapable  of  dis- 
covering any  good,  that  it  may  with  truth  be  said, 
on  the  contrary,  that  the  idea  of  good  emanates  from 
it  alone.  Reason  communicates  the  idea  of  absolute 
good,  deduces  from  this  the  ideas  of  our  own  good, 
and  of  the  good  of  every  being,  and,  yet  more,  sug- 
gests the  method  by  which  we  may  determine  in  what 
the  good  of  any  particular  being  consists  ;  thus  much 
it  does  a  priori,  without  the  intervention  of  in- 
stinct. When  this  is  done,  then,  and  then  only,  does 
reason  become  empirical,  and,  applying  to  man  this 
method,  demand  from  our  natural  desires  a  revelation 
of  the  particular  elements  of  the  end,  which  is  our 
good ;  this  is  what  reason  does,  a  posteriori,  with 
the  assistance  of  instinct.  Suppress  these  conceptions 
of  intuitive  reason,  and  limit  yourselves  to  an  empiri- 
cal application  of  reason  to  instinct,  and  you  may 
discover,  indeed,  what  nature  desires,  but  nothing 
more;  for  this  is  all  that  instinct  reveals.  Far  from 
thus  learning,  that  what  our  nature  desires  is  our 
true  good,  or  that  it  is  a  good  at  all,  it  would  not 
even  occur  to  you  to  ask  whether  it  was  or  not  ;  for 
such  a  question  would  presuppose  an  idea  of  good, 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM      CONCLUDED.          219 

which  is  not  in  your  mind.  The  idea  of  good,  in 
the  systems  of  instinct  arid  of  self-love,  is  a  paralogism; 
for  it  is  not  contained  in  the  elements  of  human  nature 
which  these  systems  recognize. 

You  will  now  easily  perceive  how  much  there  is 
of  truth  and  of  error  in  the  opinion  of  the  instinctive 
philosophers  that  all  good  is  relative.  In  the  first 
place,  it  is  false  in  respect  to  absolute  good  ;  for  that 
which  is  relative  to  the  nature  of  God,  who  is  the 
necessary  and  absolute  Being,  is  not  relative.  In  the 
second  place,  it  is  false  in  respect  to  moral  good; 
for,  whatever  may  be  the  nature  of  a  free  and  intelli- 
gent being,  it  is  still  a  good  that  he  should  accomplish 
his  destiny.  The  proposition  can  be  true,  then,  only 
in  reference  to  the  various  kinds  of  good  appropriate 
to  different  beings;  and,  even  in  this  application,  it 
is  but  half  true ;  for  the  notion  of  these  particular 
kinds  of  good  is  not  wholly  relative.  The  idea  of 
good  included  in  it  is  absolute;  and,  if  the  nature 
of  every  being  was  altered,  it  would  still  be  true  that 
the  accomplishment  of  its  end  is  a  good.  The  part 
of  the  notion  which  is  relative,  and  which  alone  is 
so,  is  the  peculiar  nature  of  this  end  and  good :  sub- 
stitute a  man's  nature  for  that  of  a  bee,  and  the 
good  of  the  bee  would  become  that  of  the  man. 
Particular  kinds  of  good,  then,  are  relative ;  but  still 
there  enters  into  every  such  good  an  element,  which 
is  not  relative,  and  which  communicates  to  it  its 
character  of  good,  namely,  the  fact  that  it  is  the 
end  of  some  being,  and  consequently  a  fraction  of 
absolute  good,  or  of  universal  order.  If  I  was  not 
unwilling  to  use  scholastic  expressions,  I  should,  say 


220  JOUFFROY. 

that  each  particular  kind  of  good  is  relative  in  its 
substance,  and  absolute  in  its  form ;  but  perhaps  sach 
an  expression  would  add  no  clearness  to  an  idea  that 
is  perfectly  simple  in  itself.  Hume's  assertion  that 
all  good  is  relative,  is  partly  true,  therefore,  and  partly 
false;  and  such  must  always  be  the  character  of  the 
fundamental  maxims  of  a  philosophy  which,  in  its 
attempt  to  explain  the  phenomena  of  human  nature, 
overlooks  some  of  its  component  elements. 

We  see  the  same  blending  of  truth  and  error  in 
the  third  fundamental  maxim  of  the  instinctive  philoso- 
phers, that  reason  cannot  influence  the  will,  but  that 
this  power  is  the  peculiar  prerogative  of  our  instincts 
and  desires.  Unquestionably,  until  reason  conceives 
the  idea  of  absolute  good  —  inasmuch  as  that  only 
is  then  good  which  we  desire  —  desire  alone  can 
influence  the  will.  In  other  words,  before  the  dis- 
covery of  absolute  good,  we  can  act  only  with  refer- 
ence to  the  particular  kinds  of  good,  toward  which 
we  are  impelled  by  instinct,  or  else  with  a  view  to 
our  greatest  interest,  that  is  to  say,  the  most  complete 
gratification  of  our  passions.  In  the  first  of  these 
cases,  assuredly,  we  obey  some  one  of  our  primitive 
affections ;  and,  in  the  second,  we  are  governed  by 
a  desire  of  secondary  formation,  that  is,  the  love 
of  self.  Before  the  discovery  of  absolute  good, 
therefore,  the  instinctive  system  has  good  reason 
for  saying  that  desire  alone  influences  the  will ;  and, 
denying,  as  it  does,  that  this  discovery  is  ever  made, 
it  is  perfectly  consistent  in  asserting  that  reason  never 
acts  upon  the  will.  But,  if  this  fact,  thus  denied,  is 
established,  and  the  conception  of  absolute  good  is 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM      CONCLUDED.          221 

admitted,  then  the  truth  of  the  other  fact,  also  denied, 
that  reason  acts  upon  the  will,  must  likewise  be 
granted ;  for  as  soon  as  the  idea  of  absolute  good 
is  comprehended,  a  new  motive  appears,  namely, 
obligation.  It  is  seen  that  this  good  is  legitimate 
in  itself,  and  ought  to  be  done;  and  at  once  a 
third  kind  of  influence  is  exerted  over  the  will, 
equally  distinct  from  the  action  of  the  primitive 
affections,  and  from  that  of  the  secondary  affection 
called  self-love.  We  may  deny,  as  the  instinctive 
philosophers  have  done,  this  third  mode  of  influence  ; 
but,  if  we  do  so,  we  must  either  abandon  such  words 
as  duty,  right,  obligation,  or  declare  that  they  express 
nothing  more  than  the  impulses  of  instinct,  and  the 
dictates  of  self-interest.  We  have  tested  the  systems 
of  selfishness  and  of  instinct  by  their  competency 
to  account  for  these  ideas,  and  have  proved  that  all 
their  attempts  to  explain  them  lead  to  results  which 
contradict  the  common  sense  of  men.  Thus,  to  prove 
that  our  wills  are  not  governed  by  an  idea,  the  in- 
stinctive philosophers  are  compelled  to  deny  that  we 
are  influenced  by  the  idea  of  obligation  ;  to  prove 
this,  they  must  deny  the  fact  of  obligation;  to  support 
this  denial  of  the  fact,  they  are  forced  to  deny  the 
common  meaning  of  the  words  right,  duty,  law; 
and  this  amounts  to  a  contradiction  of  the  universal 
language  of  men,  and  of  that  intelligence  which  this 
language  represents.  Such  are  the  consequences  of 
admitting  the  maxim,  that  reason  cannot  act  upon 
the  will.  It  is  true,  then,  within  the  circle  of  facts 
which  the  instinctive  and  selfish  systems  recognize, 
that  no  influence  over  the  will  emanates  from  reason ; 

T2 


222  JOUFFROY. 

but  this  circle  does  not  include  all  the  facts  of  human 
nature ;  for  in  human  nature  we  find  the  ideas  of 
absolute  good  and  of  obligation ;  and,  when  this 
third  mode  of  volition  is  once  admitted,  it  is  seen 
to  be  true  that  reason  does  act  upon  the  will,  through 
the  universal  laws  which  it  promulgates.  Such,  gentle- 
men, are  the  truths  and  errors,  blended  together,  in 
the  third  fundamental  maxim  of  the  instinctive  system ; 
and,  as  you  can  distinctly  see,  the  truth  is  deduced 
from  real  facts  which  are  admitted,  and  the  error  from 
the  oversight  of  other  facts  which  are  equally  real. 

It  would  be  very  easy  to  point  out  other  mistakes 
in  the  instinctive  system ;  but  such  detail  is  unne- 
cessary, for  they  are  all  connected,  more  or  less 
closely,  with  the  three  already  described. 

If,  now,  we  examine  these  three  fundamental  errors 
more  closely,  and  inquire  in  what  way  the  instinctive 
philosophers  have  fallen  into  them,  we  shall  see  that, 
in  truth,  they  form  but  one  grand  error,  and  that  this 
has  been  owing  to  a  misconception  of  the  function 
of  reason  in  producing  the  moral  phenomena  of 
human  nature. 

This  very  misconception,  however,  arises  from  a 
yet  more  fundamental  error,  which  it  is  well  you 
should  carefully  observe,  as  you  may  learn  from  it 
once  again  the  important  lesson,  that  a  true  solution 
of  the  moral  problem,  as  of  every  philosophical 
problem,  can  be  drawn  only  from  exact  psychological 
science. 

This  fundamental  error,  gentlemen,  is  the  very 
one  which  Locke  committed,  and  which  Condillac 
repeated,  in  supposing  that  experience  is  the  only 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM      CONCLUDED. 

source  of  our  primary  ideas,  and  that  the  sole  office 
of  reason  is  to  form  conclusions  by  deduction  and 
by  induction ;  or,  in  other  words,  to  carry  on  processes 
of  reasoning. 

Reasoning,  as  every  one  knows,  is  necessarily 
unproductive  of  new  truth  ;  for  it  can  only  proceed 
from  the  whole  to  the  parts,  or  from  the  parts  to  the 
whole,  and  can  find,  in  the  conclusion,  only  that 
which  is  contained  in  the  principle.  If  reason,  then, 
and  reasoning,  are  identical,  it  is  absurd  to  ask  from 
reason  an  explanation  of  the  original  ideas  of  the 
mind,  for  they  did  not  emanate  from  it ;  and,  as  the 
idea  of  good  is  incontestably  one  of  these,  it  is  absurd 
to  seek  in  reason  for  its  origin  and  source.  We  must 
have  recourse,  therefore,  to  that  faculty  of  our  nature 
from  which  our  primary  ideas  are  derived;  and  this, 
according  to  the  hypothesis  of  Locke,  and  of  all 
the  empirical  philosophers,  is  observation. 

But,  gentlemen,  observation  is  limited  to  the  internal 
facts  of  which  we  are  conscious,  and  to  the  external 
facts  which  we  perceive.  Seek  now,  within  this  circle, 
the  idea  of  good,  and  you  will  be  satisfied  at  once, 
that  the  only  one  to  be  found  is  that  which  the  in- 
stinctive philosophers  have  adopted.  Consciousness 
declares  that  we  have  desires,  arid  that  we  are  pained 
when  these  are  unsatisfied,  and  pleased  when  they 
receive  gratification  ;  externally  we  perceive  appropriate 
objects  for  these  desires,  and  means  fitted  for  their 
acquisition.  This  is  all  that  observation  furnishes 
towards  the  solution  of  the  problem ;  and  we  are 
necessarily  led,  therefore,  to  the  idea  that  good  is 


JOUFFROY. 

what  our  nature  desires,  and  that  this  is  the  only 
reasonable  signification  of  the  word. 

We  have  seen  already,  indeed,  that  the  true  idea 
of  good  is  an  a  priori  conception  —  or,  to  speak 
more  accurately,  the  result  of  many  a  priori  con- 
ceptions—  of  intuitive  reason,  and  not  a  suggestion 
of  the  empirical  faculty  or  the  understanding.  The 
true  idea  of  good,  therefore,  is  an  enigma  to  all  who 
have  not  comprehended  this  superior  source  of  ideas. 
Obliged,  therefore,  to  give  some  interpretation  to 
the  word,  they  seek  an  explanation  from  the  under- 
standing, whose  only  answer,  as  I  have  already  said, 
is  that  given  by  the  instinctive  and  the  selfish  systems. 

Here,  then,  is  the  true  source  of  all  the  errors 
of  the  instinctive  philosophy,  or  rather,  we  might 
say,  the  origin  of  this  philosophy  itself.  Here  you 
see  the  explanation  of  the  assertion,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  suppose  that  reason  can  discover  or  create 
any  ideas  in  moral  science  ;  and  of  the  other  assertion, 
so  often  repeated,  that  reason  is  an  essentially  second- 
ary faculty,  limited  to  the  discovery  of  means  of 
acquiring  a  good  already  conceived.  In  reason,  the 
instinctive  philosophers,  in  common  with  all  empirical 
philosophers,  have  recognized  nothing  but  a  reasoning 
faculty,  and  have  considered  observation,  therefore, 
as  the  exclusive  source  of  primitive  ideas.  Review 
the  writings  of  all  the  instinctive  philosophers  who 
have  expressed  any  metaphysical  opinions,  and  you 
will  see  that  they  have  all  been  imbued  with  this 
doctrine.  Obliged  to  account  for  these  ideas  of 
intuitive  reason,  they  have  been  driven  to  various 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM      CONCLUDED.          225 

expedients :  Hutcheson  invents  a  new  and  peculiar 
sense;  Hume,  unable  to  explain  them  by  experience, 
mutilates  or  denies  them ;  and,  lastly,  Jacobi  can 
bring  himself  to  deny  that  sensibility  reveals  to  us 
our  ideas  of  good,  only  when,  by  the  profound  analysis 
of  Kant's  philosophy,  he  has  been  made  to  discern 
the  reality  of  intuitive  reason,  and  the  competency 
of  this  faculty  to  communicate  original  ideas.  In 
referring,  therefore,  to  this  source,  the  error  of  the 
instinctive  philosophy,  I  rest  not  merely  on  the  inti- 
mate connection  between  the  sentimental  solution 
of  the  moral  problem  and  the  empirical  solution 
of  the  origin  of  our  ideas ;  but  I  am  supported  in 
my  assertion  by  the  expressed  opinions  of  the  instinc- 
tive philosophers  themselves,  who  are  empirical  in  their 
metaphysics  and  morality  alike,  and  empirical  morally 
because  so  metaphysically. 

What  I  have  now  said  applies  not  only  to  the 
instinctive  system  of  ethics,  but  equally,  and  with 
yet  more  theoretical  and  historical  exactness,  to  the 
system  of  selfishness.  The  selfish  morality,  indeed, 
is  rigorously  and  necessarily  derived  from  the  em- 
pirical philosophy.  It  is  distinguished  from  the  in- 
stinctive system,  by  frankly  and  entirely  accepting 
all  the  consequences  of  this  philosophy.  Empiricism, 
by  suppressing  the  a  priori  conceptions  of  reason, 
suppresses  the  true  idea  of  good  ;  and,  consequently, 
its  only  idea  of  good  is,  that  it  is  the  satisfaction  of 
our  natural  desires.  The  selfish  system  admits  this 
consequence  without  hesitation,  and  defines  morality 
to  be  the  pursuit  of  our  greatest  happiness,  or  of  the 
greatest  satisfaction  of  our  desires.  The  instinctive 


220  JOUFFROY. 

system,  however,  is  not  so  bold  nor  so  ignorant  of  the 
facts  in  our  nature,  which  contradict  this  conclusion. 
It  sees  at  once  that  such  a  definition  of  morality 
excludes  all  disinterestedness,  and  reduces  volition 
to  a  simple  calculation  of  personal  interest.  From 
such  a  consequence  it  revolts ;  for  it  cannot  overlook 
the  plain  distinction  between  moral  volitions  and 
selfish  volitions.  There  is  a  good  quite  independent 
of,  and  different  from,  our  own,  that  we  have  regard 
to  in  action.  This  is  the  fact  which  the  selfish  phi- 
losophers pass  by  unnoticed,  but  which  the  philoso- 
phers of  instinct  cannot  overlook.  To  explain  this 
fact,  and  yet  to  maintain  the  ground  of  moral  em- 
piricism, that  our  only  idea  of  good  is  of  an  end* 
which  nature  desires, -is  the  problem,  admitting  of  no 
solution,  that  the  instinctive  philosophers  have  at- 
tempted to  solve.  We  have  seen  in  what  way  they 
have  made  this  attempt,  and  how,  notwithstanding 
the  ingenuity  of  their  theories,  they  have  failed,  one 
and  all.  They  have  been  unable  to  escape  the  fatal 
difficulty,  implied  in  the  very  terms  of  their  problem, 
which,  correctly  stated,  is  as  follows: — Good  being 
only  what  our  nature  desires,  how  shall  we  find  a  good 
which  is  impersonal  ?  The  difference  between  the 
selfish  and  instinctive  systems,  therefore,  is  only  this, 
that  the  former  admits,  while  the  latter  denies  arid 
seeks  to  avoid,  the  consequences  of  that  empirical 
philosophy,  of  which  they  are  both  the  legitimate 
fruits. 

Thus,  gentlemen,  have  I  showed  you  the  principal 
source  of  the  instinctive  system  of  ethics.  But, 
independently  of  this  primary  cause,  many  others 


THE  SENTIMENTAL  SYSTEM   CONCLUDED.    5W/ 

conspire  to  lead  generous  minds  to  adopt  this  solution 
of  the  moral  problem,  and  to  conceal  from  them  its 
radical  defects.  With  a  description  of  some  of  these, 
I  will  close  the  lecture. 

The  first  and  chief  is,  unquestionably,  the  coinci- 
dence, already  pointed  out  and  explained,  between  the 
ends  which  instinct,  self-love,  and  virtue,  respectively 
impel  us  to  seek.  Permit  rne  once  again  to  repeat, 
that  reason  does  not  lead  man  in  one  direction,  self- 
love  in  another,  and  instinct  in  a  third  ;  but,  on  the 
contrary,  self-love,  when  enlightened,  counsels  us  to 
pursue  the  very  course  to  which  instinctive  desire 
impels,  and  reason,  as  the  moral  faculty,  prescribes 
what  self-love  thus  advises.  This  fundamental  agree- 
ment between  the  three  moving  powers  of  our  nature, 
has  always  been  a  source  of  illusion  in  ethical  science, 
and,  at  all  eras,  has  disguised  from  the  philosophers 
of  the  selfish  and  instinctive  schools  the  fallacy  of 
their  theories.  What  do  we  seek  in  moral  science  ? 
asks  the  selfish  philosopher.  The  true  law  of  human 
conduct.  How  shall  we  recognize  this  law  ?  By  the 
fact  that  it  is  competent  to  explain  the  various  volitions 
which  determine  that  conduct.  This  is  exactly  what 
is  done  by  interest  well  understood.  Interest  well 
understood,  therefore,  is  the  required  rule  and  law, 
says  the  philosopher  of  self-love.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  instinctive  philosophers  reason  thus :  —  Among 
the  various  ends  of  human  conduct,  if  one  can  be 
pointed  out,  towards  which  we  are  not  impelled  by  a 
desire,  or,  again,  a  single  desire  shown,  whose  object 
is  not  an  end  of  human  conduct,  then  may  it  be 
granted  that  instinct  is  incompetent  to  explain  human 


228  JOUFFROY. 

volitions,  and  that  recourse  must  be  had  to  some 
other  principle.  Is  the  good  of  others  mentioned  ? 
Sympathy  impels  us  to  seek  it.  Order  ?  Sensibility 
admires  its  beauty.  Devotion  ?  Virtue  ?  The  gene- 
rous heart  rejoices  in  their  contemplation.  Such  are 
the  arguments  of  the  philosophers  of  self-love  and 
of  instinct ;  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  believe  that  they 
may  have  seemed  conclusive  to  their  advocates.  And 
yet,  gentlemen,  the  answer  to  be  given  is  most  simple ; 
and,  as  I  have  repeated  the  mention  of  this  coinci- 
dence, I  will  also  repeat,  that  this  coincidence,  already 
explained  and  justified,  does  not  prove  what  these 
philosophers  pretend.  The  moral  problem  is  much 
more  complex  than  they  suppose,  and  their  illusion 
has  arisen  from  having  contemplated  it  under  only  one 
of  its  faces.  A  solution  of  this  problem,  to  be  true, 
must  account  not  only  for  the  ends  toward  which 
conduct  is  directed,  but  also  for  the  motive  by  which 
we  are  impelled  to  pursue  them,  and  the  reasons  by 
which  we  are  led  to  recognize  them  as  good.  For 
'instance,  it  is  a  fact  that  the  good  of  our  fellow-beings 
is  not  an  indifferent  thing,  and  that  we  do  often  will 
to  produce  it.  Hence  it  appears,  that  the  good  of 
others  must  be  reckoned  among  the  real  ends  of 
human  conduct,  and  that  every  system  must  be  false 
which  leaves  the  pursuit  of  this  end  unexplained. 
But  does  it  follow  from  this,  that  a  moral  system 
is  complete  in  this  respect,  either  because  it  shows 
that  a  natural  instinct  impels  us  blindly  to  seek  the 
crood  of  others,  or  that  it  is  our  interest  to  advance 

fy  ' 

*he  happiness  of  our  fellow-beings,  as,  by  this  means, 
we  secure  our  own  ?  By  no  means.  For,  in  the 


THE  SENTIMENTAL  SYSTEM   CONCLUDED.    229 

first  place,  we  are  really  governed  by  three  motives, 
in  thus  promoting  the  well-being  of  other  men  :  sym- 
pathy impels,  self-love  advises,  duty  commands  us, 
to  pursue  this  course ;  and,  secondly,  the  good  of 
others  appears  to  us  under  three  different  aspects  — 
as  an  object  desired  by  instinct,  as  a  condition  of 
personal  gratification,  and,  lastly,  as  an  element  of 
absolute  good.  If  it  is  true,  that  man  is  thus  led  to 
respect  the  happiness  of  his  fellow-beings  by  these 
three  motives,  and  to  regard  this  end  as  good  for 
these  three  reasons,  it  is  evident,  that  a  system  which 
explains  this  pursuit  of  another's  welfare  by  one  only 
of  these  three  motives,  or  recognizes  it  as  good  for 
one  only  of  these  three  reasons,  must  be  incomplete, 
and  cannot  give  the  true  solution  of  the  moral  problem. 
It  is  evident,  moreover,  that  this  incompetency  of  the 
system  will  betray  itself;  for  it  cannot  account  for  the 
facts  which  it  has  overlooked,  nor  for  the  ideas  cor- 
responding to  these  facts,  in  universal  common  sense 
and  the  language  of  all  mankind.  This,  gentlemen, 
is  what  the  philosophers  of  self-love  and  of  instinct 
have  not  seen  ;  and  therefore  have  they  employed  an 
argument,  from  the  coincidence  of  these  ends  and 
motives,  which  proves  nothing.  A  moral  system  is 
bound  to  account  for  and  explain  not  only  the  real 
end  of  human  volitions,  but  the  nature  also  of  these 
volitions;  that  is,  the  motives  and  ideas  by  which 
they  are  determined. 

The  selfish  and  instinctive  philosophers  have  over- 
looked also  the  fact,  that  this  coincidence  presupposes, 
in  part,  the  moral  mode  of  volition,  and  the  a  priori 
ideas  by  which  it  is  produced ;  for  this  coincidence 


230  JOUFFROY. 

is  subsequent  to  the  introduction  of  these  ideas,  and 
results  from  them.  If  these  ideas  were  suppressed, 
or  if  reason  had  never  conceived  them,  the  range 
of  instinct  and  self-love  would  be  too  narrow  for  any 
to  pretend  that  they  included  the  moral  motive.  And 
now,  to  give  some  examples  —  Who  does  not  see, 
that  the  condition  for  a  love  of  order,  in  the  sensi- 
bility, is  a  conception,  more  or  less  distinct,  of  order 
by  intuitive  reason?  Who  does  not  perceive,  that  the 
delicious  pleasure,  which  accompanies  devotedness 
and  virtue,  presupposes  virtue  and  devotedness,  which 
themselves  presuppose  the  conception  of  an  impersonal 
good  ?  Who,  in  a  word,  does  not  comprehend,  that, 
as  Providence  has  implanted  in  the  sensibility  desires 
fitted  to  make  certain  ends,  which  only  reason  can 
conceive,  agreeable  to  us,  these  ends  themselves  must 

'          O  ' 

first  be  conceived,  before  the  desires  can  awake  1  and 
that  it  is  absurd,  therefore,  from  the  actual  develop- 
ment of  these  desires,  to  infer  that  the  intervention 
of  reason,  in  making  known  these  ends,  and  inducing 
us  to  pursue  them,  is  useless  ?  It  would  be  difficult, 
perhaps,  to  ascertain  with  precision  what  instinct 
or  self-interest  would  be,  or  to  what  courses  of  con- 
duct these  two  motives  would  lead,  without  the  co- 
operation of  the  rational  and  moral  motive ;  but  it  is 
perfectly  plain,  that  neither  instinct  nor  self-interest 
would  present  to  a  man,  deficient  in  this  faculty,  the 
same  ends  which,  with  his  present  constitution,  he  is 
led  now  to  pursue. 

Another  cause,  gentlemen,  which  has  conspired 
with  the  fundamental  harmony,  now  described,  to  mis- 
lead the  philosophers  of  instinct,  is  the  form  under 


THE    SENTIMENTAL    SYSTEM    CONCLUDED.  231 

which  they  have  stated  the  moral  problem  —  a  form 
none  the  less  bad  because  common,  and  which  natu- 
rally leads  to  a  defective  method  of  examination. 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  moral  inquiries  may 
be  undertaken  and  pursued.  The  first  is  that  which 
I  find  fault  with  most  moralists  for  having  adopted. 
These  philosophers  have  made  it  their  aim  to  dis- 
cover the  origin  of  our  ideas  of  good  and  evil,  of 
right  and  duty,  of  approbation  and  disapprobation, 
and  in  a  word,  of  all  our  moral  ideas.  This  is  the 
form  under  which  they  have  presented  the  moral 
problem.  But  the  form  under  which  I  presented  it 
was,  you  will  recollect,  quite  different.  The  object 
of  my  investigations  has  been,  in  the  first  place,  to 
learn  what  and  how  many  are  the  real  motives  of 
human  volition ;  and  this  point  determined,  next  to 
ascertain  which  among  these  motives  is  the  source 
of  moral  ideas.  We  may,  indeed,  by  proceeding  in 
either  way,  arrive  at  the  desired  result ;  but  it  is  easy 
to  see  that  the  chances  of  error  are  more  numerous 
in  the  former  mode  than  in  the  latter.  When  we 
seek  to  ascertain  the  real  and  distinct  motives  of 
human  volition,  our  inquiries  are  directed  to  matters 
of  fact;  we  endeavor  to  penetrate  into  human  con- 
sciousness, to  observe  the  considerations  by  which 
conduct  is  determined  in  the  diverse  and  multiplied 
circumstances  of  life,  and  thus  to  detect,  by  varied 
observations,  the  different  distinct  motives  which 
influence  our  acts.  Such  an  examination  can  hardly 
fail  of  being  impartial,  and  the  chances  are  many 
that  it  will  conduct  us  to  a  true  result ;  for,  on  the 
one  hand,  our  object  is  to  discover  the  various  modes 


232  JOUFFROY. 

in  which  the  human  will  may  be  determined,  —  and 
there  can  be  no  motive  for  giving  a  mutilated  and 
imperfect  solution  of  such  a  problem,  and,  on  the 
other,  as  all  the  distinct  motives  of  volition  must 
necessarily  act  upon  the  will  within  a  short  space  of 
time,  it  is  evident  that  persevering  observation  cannot 
fail  promptly  to  discover  them.  And,  now,  supposing 
that  these  motives  are  ascertained,  what  remains  to 
be  done  ?  We  have  only  to  determine  which  of  these 
motives  is  the  source  of  moral  ideas,  that  is  to  say, 
which  accounts  for  and  explains  the  true  meaning 
of  such  words  as  in  all  human  languages  express 
these  ideas.  And  having  before  us  a  complete  list, 
and  in  the  mind  a  precise  notion  of  these  motives, 
it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  we  can  be  mistaken  as 
to  the  one  that  alone  can  explain  them  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  as  to  the  true  moral  motive. 

The  chances  are  much  in  favor,  therefore,  of  ar- 
riving at  truth,  when  we  adopt  this  mode ;  and  only 
one  source  of  error  is  apparent,  namely,  incomplete 
observation  of  the  phenomena  of  human  nature. 

Can  as  much  be  said  in  favor  of  the  other  mode? 
I  think  not.  It  sets  out  from  the  fact  that  moral 
ideas  exist  in  human  intelligence,  and  words,  expres- 
sive of  these  ideas,  in  human  language,  and  passes  at 
once,  without  intermediate  steps,  to  an  examination 
of  the  origin  of  those  ideas.  And,  now,  do  you  see 
what  the  consequences  may  be  of  such  a  mode  of 
proceeding  1  I  will  tell  you.  Man's  nature  is  com- 
plex, and  yet  its  elements  are  in  perfect  harmony  with 
each  other,  by  reason  of  the  coincidence  already  de- 
scribed ;  so  that  many  of  its  phenomena,  although 


THE  SENTIMENTAL  SYSTEM  CONCLUDED.     233 

distinct,  are  parallel.  Thus  instinct,  duty,  self-love, 
are  parallel,  although  widely  different;  and  yet  more, 
.hey  often  conspire,  although  each  in  this  union  re- 
mains unchanged.  It  is  very  possible,  therefore,  that 
the  moralist,  observing  that  the  mode  of  volition  which 
we  call  the  instinctive,  or  the  mode  which  we  call 
selfish,  impels  us  to  the  performance  of  such  acts,  as 
the  common  sense  of  humanity  calls  morally  good, 
should  be  struck  with  this  coincidence,  and,  stopping 
here,  should  think  that  he  has  discovered  the  solution 
of  the  moral  problem.  And  do  you  not  see  how 
natural  it  is  that  he  should  then  attempt  to  verify  his 
conjecture ;  and  that,  with  a  mind  preoccupied  by  his 
discovery,  he  should  succeed  in  satisfying  himself  of 
its  truth,  since  this  fact  of  coincidence  so  constantly 
reappears  1  And  do  you  not  readily  comprehend  that 
he  may  limit  his  observation  to  this  fact  of  coinci- 
dence, cease  to  investigate  further,  and  conclude  im- 
mediately that  the  words  good  and  evil  represent  only 
interest,  well  or  ill  understood,  as  Hobbes  has  taught ; 
or  utility  and  its  opposite,  as  Hume  maintains;  or  the 
sympathy  and  antipathy  of  the  impartial  spectator, 
according  to  Smith's  supposition  ;  and,  consequently, 
that  either  instinct  or  self-love  is  the  true  principle 
of  moral  volitions,  and  the  true  source  of  the  moral 
ideas  ?  Such,  gentlemen,  are  the  evil  results  of  the 
method  now  described.  I  have  been  anxious  that  you 
should  thus  see  how  much  the  solution  of  any  question 
depends  upon  the  method  in  which  it  is  investigated  ; 
and  it  is  undeniable,  that  their  method  has  contributed 
greatly  to  the  errors  of  the  instinctive  philosophers, 
as  has  clearly  appeared  from  the  description  already 


234 

given  of  the  manner  In  which  Hume  and  Smith 
have  attempted  to  demonstrate  their  respective  sys- 
tems. 

To  these  causes  of  delusion  another  must  be  added, 
which  is  the  last  I  shall  mention.  I  mean  the  spon- 
taneousness  of  our  moral  conceptions,  and  the  form 
under  which  they  first  enter,  and  most  frequently  con- 
tinue to  abide  in  the  mind. 

There  is  a  great  difference  between  truths  commu- 
nicated by  intuitive  reason,  and  those  obtained  by 
deduction  in  this  respect.  The  process  through  which 
the  latter  are  acquired  being  voluntary,  and  by  suc- 
cessive steps,  we  have  a  distinct  consciousness,  that 
cannot  be  misunderstood,  of  their  rational  origin. 
But  intuitive  truths,  on  the  contrary,  are  rather  a 
revelation  than  an  acquisition.  Being,  as  they  are, 
the  conditions  of  all  other  conceptions  of  truth,  and 
absolutely  indispensable  to  a  comprehension  of  the 
external  world,  it  was  necessary  that  they  should  be 
originally  given,  and  that  their  discovery  should  not 
be  left  to  the  accidental  exercise  of  our  liberty.  The 
knowledge  of  them  has  been  made  independent, 
therefore,  of  the  exercise  of  will,  and  of  the  activity 
of  understanding.  They  appear  in  all  men,  in  the 
stupid  and  intelligent  alike;  they  arise  without  the 
intervention  of  attention  or  of  will ;  and  when  once 
conceived,  memory  is  not  burdened  with  preserving 
these  results,  for  they  reappear  whenever  needed,  with 
equal  spontaneity  and  ease,  so  that,  without  effort  of 
our  own,  and  almost  without  a  consciousness  of  their 
presence,  we  enjoy  their  influence,  as  we  breathe  the 
vital  air,  ignorant  and  unthinking  whence  and  how 


THE  SENTIMENTA^  SYSTEM  CONCLUDED.     235 

they  came.  No  one  remembers  the  period  at  which 
these  intuitive  truths  were  first  acquired ;  and  phi- 
losophers, when  they  observe  them  among  the  ele- 
ments of  our  knowledge,  can  only  admit  them  as 
necessary.  Not  at  once,  however,  is  their  universality 
observed  ;  for  they  do  not  naturally  reveal  themselves 
under  this  aspect.  We  do  not  begin  with  an  abstract 
conception  of  them,  and  then  proceed  to  their  special 
application  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  they  are  always  first 
perceived  in  some  particular  instance,  and  enveloped 
in  a  particular  judgment ;  and,  indeed,  in  the  majority 
of  minds,  they  are  never  distinguished  separately,  and 
the  universal  truth  implied  in  these  judgments  is 
never  disengaged.  To  the  multitude  of  men,  there- 
fore, these  intuitive  truths  remain  always  confused, 
and,  as  we  might  say,  unknown,  though  supposed, 
included,  and  implied,  in  every  act  of  judgment. 

What  I  have  now  said,  gentlemen,  of  intuitive 
truths  in  general,  is  true  of  our  fundamental  moral 
conceptions  in  particular ;  and  this  is  a  cause  that 
has  chiefly  contributed  to  mislead  the  instinctive  phi- 
losophers. The  apparent  spontaneity  of  our  judg- 
ments upon  actions  has  seemed  to  them  a  certain 
proof  that  they  emanate  from  instinct  rather  than 
reason.  The  obscurity,  in  the  minds  of  most  men, 
of  the  ideas  of  good  and  evil  implied  in  these  judg- 
ments, has  confirmed  them  in  this  conviction ;  for, 
according  to  their  notions,  a  rational  judgment  is 
merely  an  application  to  particular  cases  of  a  precon- 
ceived general  truth,  and  in  these  moral  judgments, 
both  the  truth  and  its  application  are  unseen.  In 
the  third  place,  the  impossibility  of  assigning  a  date 


236  JOUFFROY. 

to  the  first  appearance  of  these  moral  judgments  has 
seemed  to  them  an  incontestable  sign  that  they  origi- 
nate in  instinct ;  for  instinct  is  coeval  with  our  birth, 
while  reason,  on  the  contrary,  is  developed  gradually, 
by  processes  which  may  be  traced.  Finally,  gen- 
tlemen,, the  facts,  that  no  human  being  is  wholly 
wanting  in  moral  convictions;  that  moral  judgments 
frequently  precede  reflection  ;  and,  lastly,  that  memory 
and  experience  do  not  operate  to  produce  them,  as 
the  hypothesis  of  their  rational  origin  would  seem 
to  imply, — have  all  concurred  to  deceive  the  instinc- 
tive philosophers.  When,  at  a  later  period  in  our 
course,  I  shall  have  described  in  detail  the  formation 
of  our  fundamental  moral  ideas,  you  will  more  easily 
comprehend  these  analogies,  while  you  will  perceive, 
at  the  same  time,  the  radical  differences  which  strict 
analysis  detects.  Here  I  close  my  criticism  o£  the 
systems  of  instinct,  and  in  the  next  lecture  shall 
commence  an  examination  of  the  rational  systems 
of  ethics. 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. PRICE.  237 


LECTURE    XXI. 

THE  RATIONAL  SYSTEM.  — PRICE. 

GENTLEMEN, 

HAVING  now  examined  the  solutions  of  the 
moral  problem  which  are  given  by  the  selfish  and 
sentimental  schools,  we  come  at  last  to  systems  which 
seek  the  rule  of  human  conduct  where  truly  it  is  to  be 
found  —  in  the  conceptions  of  reason.  In  saying  this, 
I  say  enough  to  assure  you  that  the  systems  now  to 
be  discussed  approach  much  more  nearly  to  the  true 
solution  of  the  problem  than  those  thus  far  examined. 
Before  entering,  however,  upon  the  exposition  and 
detailed  criticism  of  their  principles,  it  may  be  well 
that  I  should  recall  to  your  minds  the  terms  of  the 
question  to  be  solved,  the  solutions  proposed  b.y  the 
systems  already  discussed,  and  the  distinguishing  char- 
acteristic of  the  solution  given  by  those  which  I  have 
classed  under  the  general  name  of  rational  systems. 

The  consciousness  that  they  are  free  and  intelligent 
inspires  all  men  with  the  conviction  that  there  is 
a  rule  of  conduct  by  which  they  should  be  bound  ;  or, 
in  other  words,  that  life  has  an  end,  which  they  can 
discern  by  intellect,  and  to  which  they  are  bound 
to  direct  their  energies,  in  the  exercise  of  freedom. 


238  JOUFFROtf. 

What  is  this  rule  ?  This  is  the  question  which  it 
is  the  object  of  ethical  science  to  answer.  Each 
instant  we  recognize  such  a  rule,  impose  it  upon 
others,  and  are  conscious  that  we  ought  to  be  influ- 
enced by  it  ourselves.  Continually  do  we  say,  This 
is  good,  that  is  bad,  this  should  be  done,  that  should 
be  avoided  —  all  of  which  judgments  imply  that  we 
have  faith  in  some  rule  of  conduct  which  we  can 
conceive  of  and  are  bound  to  pursue.  For  we  not 
only  counsel  others  to  do  what  is  right,  and  judge, 
in  our  own  case,  that  such  conduct  is  proper,  but  we 
say  to  others,  This  is  right,  therefore  it  ought  to  be 
done,  and  we  feel  that  such  language  is  equally 
applicable  to  ourselves.  The  convictions,  that  an  act 
is  good  and  that  it  ought  to  be  done,  are  identical. 
We  feel  ourselves  bound  to  pursue  the  course  of 
conduct,  whatever  it  may  be,  in  which  we  recognize 
this  character  of  goodness. 

It  would  seem,  gentlemen,  since  we  are  each  in- 
stant passing  moral  judgments,  that  nothing  could 
be  more  definite  or  clear  to  comprehension  than  these 
ideas  of  good  and  evil.  In  judging,  with  so  much 
confidence,  of  the  conduct  of  our  fellow-men,  and  of 
our  own  acts,  it  is  implied  that  we  cannot  be  ignorant 
of  the  essential  nature  of  good  and  evil.  And  yet 
it  is  evident  that  the  ideas  represented  by  these  words, 
good  and  evil,  are  precisely  those  which  the  numerous 
systems  already  spoken  of  and  yet  to  be  discussed, 
are  striving  to  ascertain.  This  apparent  contradiction 
must  not  surprise  you.  It  is  equally  apparent  in 
relation  to  all  fundamental  ideas  of  the  human  mind. 
Our  most  familiar  judgments  imply  notions  which 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM    PRICE.  239 

philosophy  is  still  seeking  to  discover,  and  which  she 
cannot  flatter  herself  she  has  thus  far  precisely  deter- 
mined. What  is  more  common  than  to  hear  the 
opinions  expressed,  This  is  beautiful,  that  is  ugly ; 
and  who  doubts  that  these  words  indicate  clear  ideas 
in  the  minds  of  all  men  as  to  the  qualities  which 
they  represent?  And  yet  how  numerous  are  the 
systems  which  attempt  to  describe  the  true  nature 
of  these  qualities!  Again,  we  constantly  say,  This 
is  true,  false,  probable ;  and,  nevertheless,  so  long 
as  philosophers  exist,  will  they  dispute  upon  the 
nature  of  truth  and  of  certainty.  We  do  not  hesitate 
to  say,  This  is;  and  yet,  who  knows  the  nature  of 
being  1  On  the  other  hand,  we  say,  That  is  not, 
without  knowing  what  is  meant  by  nothing.  Examine 
the  systems  of  philosophers  as  to  the  nature  of  being, 
and  they  will  give  you,  in  answer,  various  opinions, 
by  none  of  which  will  you  be  convinced. 

Thus  you  see  that  these  judgments  of  common 
sense,  as  to  good  and  evil,  truth  and  error,  beauty 
and  ugliness,  being  and  its  opposite,  all  siuiple  judg- 
ments,—  without  which  we  could  not  take  even  the 
first  step  in  our  reasonings;  without  which,  indeed, 
it  might  be  said  we  could  not  act  at  all,  nor  conse- 
quently live,  —  imply  the  existence,  in  the  minds  of 
all  men,  of  certain  ideas  ;  while,  notwithstanding, 
philosophers  still  seek  to  ascertain  these  ideas,  still 
differ  among  themselves  concerning  them,  and  give 
utterance  to  a  variety  of  opinions  and  systems,  in 
their  attempts  to  describe  and  explain  them. 

And  yet,  gentlemen,  this*  contradiction  is  only  one 
in  appearance.  You  find  its  explanation  in  the  fact 


243  jouFFiior. 

that  all  these  primitive  and  fundamental  ideas  are 
given  by  intuitive  reason  ;  confused  conceptions  do 
not  prevent  some  apprehension  of  their  nature  in  the 
minds  of  any  ;  while  yet  a  clear  conception  cannot 
be  obtained,  except  by  means  of  an  analysis,  that 
becomes  difficult  from  the  fact  that  intuitive  reason 
is  so  intimate  and  familiar.  Thus  what  philosophers 
are  seeking  is  not  that  which  all  men  possess  as 
human  beings.  But  they  seek  the  precise  moral  idea, 
concealed  beneath  this  name  of  good.  Now,  this  pre- 
cise idea  is  not  present  to  the  minds  of  men  when 
they  declare  that  this  is  good  or  that  is  bad.  Un- 
doubtedly, they  recognize,  in  the  acts  upon  which 
they  pass  these  judgments,  the  presence  or  absence 
of  a  certain  quality.  But  there  is  a  wide  difference 
between  a  recognition  of  the  presence  or  absence 
of  a  quality,  and  a  precise  description  of  this  quality; 
and  this  is  exactly  the  distinction  between  common 
sense  and  philosophy.  The  general  notion  of  men, 
as  to  good  and  evil,  is  such,  that,  if  a  false  defi- 
nition is  given  of  these  two  qualities,  they  easily 
perceive  that  it  is  false,  but  not  such  as  to  enable 
them  to  substitute  in  its  place  the  true  definition. 
From  what  has  now  been  said,  we  can  understand 
how,  on  the  one  side,  common  sense  is  the  rock  upon 
which  the  most  elaborate  systems  of  philosophy  have 
been  wrecked,  and  the  judge,  whose  sanction  even 
the  proudest  have  been  forced  to  seek ;  while,  on  the 
other,  common  sense  has  never  supplied,  and  can 
never  supply,  the  absence  of  philosophy.  I  have, 
in  another  place,  unfolded  at  full  length  all  these 
ideas,  in  comparing  together  common  sense  and 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. PRICE.  241 

philosophy,  and  do  not  intend,  therefore,  to  dwell 
longer  on  this  point  here.  The  only  important  thing 
is,  that  you  should  distinctly  comprehend  the  extent 
of  that  knowledge  which  all  men  possess  in  moral 
science,  and  then  form  a  conception  of  the  knowledge 
yet  to  be  acquired.  What  we  have  now  to  seek  is 
precisely  what  all  the  philosophers  have  been  in  search 
of  whose  systems  we  have  examined.  We  have  to 
seek,  as  they  have  sought,  the  precise  idea  represented 
in  the  judgments  of  common  sense  by  the  words 
good  and  evil,  and  by  the  expressions,  This  ought  to 
be  done,  that  ought  to  be  avoided.  This  is  the  great 
problem  of  moral  science ;  for  true  rules  of  human 
conduct  can  be  derived  only  from  a  precise,  clear, 
and  true  idea  of  the  good  which  %is  our  end.  This 
great  problem,  then,  must  we  now  approach,  and 
devote  our  best  efforts  to  its  precise  solution. 

We  have  already  remarked  that  every  act  of  the 
human  will  includes  three  elements  —  the  volition 
Itself,  its  end,  and  the  motive  by  which  we  are  im- 
pelled to  pursue  it.  Of  these  three  elements,  it  is 
evident  that  only  one  remains  in  all  cases  the  same ; 
that  is,  the  act  of  volition.  The  other  two,  the  end 
and  the  motive,  continually  vary,  and  the  different 
modes  of  volition,  therefore,  must  be  resolved  into 
a  variation  in  these  two  elements. 

If  this  is  true,  gentlemen,  it  is  evident  that  it  is 
by  a  study  of  human  volitions,  and  of  their  different 
modes,  that  we  must  seek  to  find  an  explanation 
of  the  essential  nature  of  good,  and  of  the  sentiment 
of  obligation.  What  is  meant  by  the  word  good? 
An  end.  What  is  meant  by  the  word  obligation1! 

VOL.    II.  V 


242  JOUFFROY. 

The  motive  by  which  we  are  impelled  to  attain  it. 
There  is,  then,  a  mode  of  volition,  especially  char- 
acterized by  this,  that  it  seeks  the  end  implied  by 
the  word  good,  and  is  governed  by  the  motive  implied 
by  the  word  obligation.  We  can  obtain  a  clear  view 
of  the  precise  idea  expressed  by  each  of  these  words 
only  through  a  strict  analysis  of  this  peculiar  mode 
of  volition  ;  while  the  mode  itself  can  be  discovered 
only  after  an  examination  and  classification  of  all 
possible  modes  of  volition. 

In  studying  the  facts  of  man's  moral  nature,  we 
have  recognized,  that  all  modes  of  volition,  however 
numerous,  may  still  be  referred  to  three  classes;  or, 
what  amounts  to  the  same  thino-  that  the  will  can 

O  ' 

be  really  determined  only  by  three  motives,  and 
can  seek  only  three  really  distinct  ends. 

This  being  true,  gentlemen,  two  consequences  fol 
low ;  first,  that  the  mode  of  volition,  whose  end 
is  good,  and  whose  motive  is  obligation,  is  necessarily 
one  of  these  three  modes  ;  and,  secondly,  that,  when 
philosophers  have  sought  to  determine  the  end  of 
volition  represented  by  the  word  good,  and  the  motive 
of  volition  represented  by  the  word  obligation,  they 
have  found  it  impossible  to  invent,  in  their  solution 
of  these  questions,  more  than  three  distinct  systems. 
If  there  are  actually  but  three  distinct  ends,  and 
three  distinct  motives,  of  human  volition,  it  is  im- 
possible to  imagine  that  any  system  should  seek  a 
solution  elsewhere.  A  priori,  then,  human  nature, 
and  a  complete  description  of  the  phenomena  of  will, 
being  given,  philosophy  can  propose  only  three  distinct 
solutions  of  the  moral  problem  —  the  selfish,  the 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. PRICK.  243 

instinctive,  and  the  rational  solutions.  To  arrive  at 
a  true  solution  of  the  problem,  therefore,  it  is  only 
necessary  to  examine  these  three  solutions,  and  see 
whjch  is  adequate  to  explain  the  facts  of  man's  mora* 
nature. 

This  is  precisely  the  task  in  which  we  are  now 
engaged,  and  which  we  have  in  part  already  finished. 
Oftthe  three  possible  solutions  of  the  problem,  I  have 
already  examined  the  two  first,  and  proved  that  they 
do  not  answer  it  aright.  Allow  me  to  call  your 
attention,  for  a  moment,  to  the  precise  characteristics 
of  these  two  solutions,  and  to  the  reasons  which  have 
compelled  me  to  reject  them,  before  passing  to  a 
consideration  of  the  third  and  last. 

The  selfish  system  declares,  that,  when  we  use 
the  expression  "  This  is  good/'  the  word  good  is  only 
intended  to  designate  the  greatest  satisfaction,  or  the 
greatest  happiness,  of  our  nature ;  and,  consequently, 
it  sees,  in  what  is  called  obligation,  only  the  motive 
which  impels  us  to  seek  this  greatest  happiness ;  or, 
in  other  words,  that  desire  of  secondary  formation, 
which  is  but  the  aggregate  of  all  our  primitive  desires, 
and  is  denominated  self-love.  Such  is  the  selfish 
solution  of  the  moral  problem. 

In  what  way  have  I  refuted  this  solution?  Let  us 
see.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  shown  that,  between 
the  moral  judgments  actually  passed  by  common  sense, 
and  those  which  it  ought  to  pass — if  by  the  word 
good  was  meant  the  greatest  happiness  of  our  na- 
ture —  there  is  no  coincidence ;  or,  if  there  is  such 
a  coincidence,  that  it  can  be  recognized  only  by 
that  highest  Intelligence,  who  foresaw  and  adapted 


244  JOUFFROY. 

the  means  of  happiness.  And  as,  in  fact,  mulUtudeg 
of  individuals,  entirely  incapable  of  such  an  estimate, 
'o  pass  these  judgments,  it  follows,  that,  even  if  this 
coincidence  was  made  perfectly  evident,  the  expl^na- 
tion  would  still  be  inadequate.  In  the  second  place, 
I  have  shown  that  if,  by  the  word  good,  in  our  moral 
judgments,  we  understood  our  highest  personal  good, 
we  should  be  conscious  that  this  was  our  meanjng, 
and  that  we  had  previously  considered  the  relation 
of  these  things  to  our  greatest  happiness.  Now,  so 
far  from  being  conscious  of  this,  we  are  conscious 
of  directly  the  contrary.  There  is  even  less  coinci- 
dence observable,  therefore,  between  the  internal  facts, 
than  between  the  external  facts.  Such  was  my  first 
mode  of  refuting  the  system  of  selfishness.  The 
second  was  as  follows :  —  I  maintained,  even  if  the 
motive  of  the  selfish  mode  of  volition  is  admitted 
to  be  the  desire  of  our  own  private  good,  that  this 
motive  is  still  not  an  obligatory  one,  because  that 
which  we  desire  is  not  seen  to  be  that  which  ought 
to  be  done.  Thus,  then,  by  comparing  the  selfish 
solution  of  the  moral  problem  with  the  judgments 
of  common  sense,  I  have  shown,  on  the  one  hand, 
that  there  is  no  coincidence  between  the  idea  of  good, 
as  explained  by  the  selfish  system,  and  the  idea  of  good 
as  we  find  it  in  the  moral  judgment  of  common  sense ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  good  recognized  in 
our  moral  judgments  is  accompanied  by  a  sense  of 
obligation,  while  the  selfish  motive  is  not.  Such, 
then,  is  the  selfish  solution  of  the  moral  problem, 
and  such  are  the  reasons  which  have  led  me  to 
reject  it. 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  PRICE.  245 

In  what,  now,  does  the  instinctive  solution  of  the 
moral  problem  consist?  The  philosophers  of  instinct 
pretend,  that  this  word  good  designates  simply  the 
peculiar  object  of  a  natural  affection,  and  that  the 
motive  implied  by  the  word  obligation  is  merely  this 
desire  itself.  The  only  difference  among  the  philoso- 
phers of  instinct  is,  that  some  of  them  have  considered 
this  affection  as  one  which  always  exists,  and  is  always 
recognized,  in  our  nature;  while  others,  acknowl- 
edging that  the  tendency  of  no  commonly  recognized 
affection  coincides  with  the  idea  of  good,  have  in- 
vented a  new  affection,  commonly  overlooked,  but 
proved  to  possess  real  existence  by  the  very  fact 
that  such  an  end  as  good  is  pursued.  I  have  refuted 
this  second  solution  of  the  moral  problem  exactly  as 
I  did  the  selfish  solution.  In  the  first  place,  1  have 
shown  that  no  natural  affection  is  or  can  be  accom- 
panied by  the  sense  of  obligation,  and  that  no  affection 
can  rightfully  exercise  supreme  control  over  other 
affections  ;  and,  therefore,  that  the  instinctive  solution 
of  the  moral  problem  is  inadmissible.  In  the  second 
place,  I  have  shown,  even  supposing  it  to  be  true 
that  the  combined  ends  of  all  our  natural  affections 
are  coincident  with  the  end  represented  by  the  word 
good  in  moral  judgments,  that  still  the  particular  object 
of  any  one  of  our  affections  cannot  be  thus  coincident; 
and  that  Smith  himself  has  granted  this  to  be  true 
in  the  case  of  sympathy,  which  certainly  could  best 
stand  such  a  test ;  arid  thus,  that  the  solution  of  the 
instinctive  philosophers,  who  make  moral  good  the 
object  of  a  peculiar  affection,  even  if  it  saves  their 
system  from  the  second  objection,  is  still  exposed  to 


246  JOUFFROY. 

the  first,  which  alone  is  sufficient  to  disprove  it.  For, 
however  elevated  may  be  the  object  of  this  new 
affection  which  they  have  invented,  we  still  can  be 
impelled  to  its  pursuit  only  by  the  affection  itself. 
This  affection  is  equal,  and  only  equal,  to  our  other 
affections;  it.  can  in  no  way,  therefore,  be  more 
obligatory  than  they.  Thus  have  I  refuted  the  in- 
stinctive solution  of  the  moral  problem. 

Having  now  recalled  to  your  minds  the  point  from 
which  we  set  out,  and  the  way  we  have  traversed, 
we  come  next  in  order  to  a  consideration  of  the  third 
possible  solution  of  the  moral  problem ;  that  is  to 
say,  the  rational  one.  In  a  few  words,  I  will  explain 
to  you  in  what  this  consists.  The  common  character- 
istic of  all  possible  rational  systems  is,  that  they 
consider  the  idea  of  good,  as  it  is  found  in  the 
moral  judgments  of  common  sense,  an  a  priori 
conception  of  reason.  Whatever,  therefore,  may  be 
the  idea  which,  according  to  these  systems,  is  ex- 
pressed by  the  word  good,  they  all  agree  in  recognizing 
that  it  is  communicated  neither  by  instinct  nor  by 
experience,  but  that  it  emanates  from  intuitive  reason. 
Another  dogma,  held  in  common  by  all  rational  sys- 
tems, is,  that  to  the  idea  of  good,  as  conceived  by 
reason,  is  immediately  attached  the  idea  of  obligation; 
so  that,  whenever  we  conceive  of  any  thing  as  good, 
we  know  at  once  that  it  ought  to  be  done. 

All  rational  systems  agree,  therefore,  both  in  the 
origin  of  the  idea  of  good,  which  they  refer  to  an 
a  priori  conception  of  reason,  and  in  the  nature  of  the 
accompanying  motive  —  a  motive  purely  rational,  and 
represented  by  the  word  obligation.  All  consequently 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  PRICE.  247 

agree  in  riot  recognizing  the  type  of  moral  volition 
either  in  the  instinctive  or  in  the  selfish  modes  of 
volition,  and  consequently  in  rejecting  as  false  both 
the  selfish  and  instinctive  solutions  of  the  problem, 
whose  object  it  is  to  determine  the  true  elements 
of  the  moral  mode  of  volition.  The  rational  phi- 
losophers, therefore,  do  not  consider  the  idea  of  the 
greatest  satisfaction  of  all  our  natural  affections,  nor 
the  idea  of  a  special  object  of  a  particular  affection, 
equivalent  to  the  idea  of  good.  But  they  all  assert 
that  this  word  represents  another  idea,  which  only 
reason  is  capable  of  conceiving,  .and  which  appears 
to  us  as  obligatory  the  moment  it  is  conceived.  Thus 
far  the  rational  philosophers  agree,  in  the  solution 
which  they  give  of  the  moral  problem. 

They  differ  from  each  other,  however,  in  this,  that 
some  consider  the  idea  of  good  as  simple  and  irre- 
ducible, while  others  do  not.  In  the  minds  of  the 
former,  in  other  words,  the  idea  of  good  is  not  a 
complex  notion,  which  can  be  decomposed  into  the 
particular  notions  which  it  comprehends ;  nor  is  it 
another  expression  of  a  still  higher  idea,  into  which 
it  may  be  resolved,  and  by  which  it  may  be  explained. 
According  to  their  opinion,  we  cannot  explain  the 
idea  of  good ;  we  can  merely  name  it.  The  idea 
in  itself  is  clearer  than  any  other  into  which  it  can 
be  translated  ;  and  attempted  explanations,  therefore, 
serve  but  to  obscure  it.  Philosophers  who  take  this 
view  easily  solve  the  problem  of  the  nature  of  good. 
To  the  question  What  is  good?  they  reply,  It  is  good, 
and  seek  only  to  determine  the  objects  in  which  it 
may  be  discerned,  the  conditions  under  which  it  is 


248  JOUFFROY. 

conceived,  and  the  phenomena  by  which  this  con- 
ception is  accompanied.  As  systems  of  this  class 
entirely  coincide  as  to  the  nature  of  good,  without 
attempting  to  define  it,  they  cannot  differ  upon  sec- 
ondary points.  I  shall  consider  them,  therefore,  as 
one,  and  shall  criticise  them  altogether.  Cud  worth, 
Price,  and  the  philosophers  of  the  Scottish  school, 
properly  so  called,  are  the  writers  who  have  embraced 
this  opinion.  The  rational  systems  which  adopt  the 
opposite  idea,  can,  on  the  contrary,  be  easily  distin- 
guished from  one  another.  Admitting  that  the  idea 
of  good  is  one  that  can  be  resolved  into  another  or 
several  other  ideas,  and,  consequently,  that  it  can 
be  defined,  the  authors  of  these  systems  give  different 
definitions,  and  hence  results  a  great  variety  of  sys- 
tems. Thus,  by  good,  Wollaston  means  what  is  true, 
and  considers  that  conduct  morally  good  which  is 
conformable  to  truth.  Malebranche,  on  the  contrary, 
defines  good  to  be  order,  and  makes  morality  consist 
in  acting  in  obedience  to  this  order.  Good,  according 
to  Clarke,  is  acting  with  a  reference  to  the  fitness 
of  things,  and  according  to  the  nature  of  things  — 
agreeing  in  this  with  the  Stoics.  Wolf  supposes 
that  the  idea  of  good  resolves  itself  into  that  of  per- 
fection, and  Ferguson  into  that  of  excellence.  When 
I  come  to  the  examination  of  this  class  of  systems, 
I  will  point  out  to  you  the  different  solutions  which 
have  been  given  to  the  moral  problem,  as  regarded 
from  this  point  of  view.  My  only  object  at  present 
is  to  make  you  acquainted  with  my  reason  for  the 
classification  now  made  of  the  rational  philosophers. 
This  classification  is  justified  by  the  fact  that  some 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. PRICE.  249 

of  these  philosophers  consider  the  idea  of  good  a 
simple  idea,  like  those  of  time  and  space,  and  conse- 
quently refuse  to  define  it;  while  others  attempt  to 
give  a  definition  of  good,  and  are  thus  led  to  invent 
a  great  variety  of  theories. 

My  design,  gentlemen,  is  to  exhibit  successively 
specimens  of  these  two  classes  of  systems.  It  is  by 
examples  that  I  have  endeavored  to  make  you  ac- 
quainted with  the  true  spirit  of  the  selfish  and  the 
instinctive  systems  of  ethics.  To  this  method  I  shall 
adhere,  and  by  examples  shall  introduce  you  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  rational  systems  of  ethics.  Instead 
of  such  long  developments  as  I  have  entered  into 
with  regard  to  the  selfish  and  instinctive  systems,  I 
shall  be  compelled  to  give  but  a  hasty  exposition  of 
the  rational  systems.  For  the  length  to  which,  in 
spite  of  myself,  this  preliminary  part  of  my  course  has 
already  extended,  begins  to  alarm  me;  and,  fortu- 
nately, the  progress  which  we  have  already  made  in 
our  researches,  will  permit  me  to  be  more  rapid  than 
I  should  wish,  under  other  circumstances,  to  be  myself, 
or  than  you,  perhaps,  may  desire.  In  a  few  words 
I  can  explain  my  meaning. 

Let  me  remind  you  that  the  end  which  we  have 
proposed  to  ourselves  in  this  preliminary  examination, 
is  twofold ;  first,  to  examine  the  different  systems 
which,  in  any  way,  have  misconceived  or  mutilated 
the  true  principle  of  morality,  that  is  to  say,  the  law 
of  obligation ;  and,  secondly,  by  a  criticism  of  these 
systems,  to  disengage,  in  a  distinct  and  precise  man- 
ner, the  law  from  which  all  ethics  spring.  What 
now,  gentlemen,  is  the  essence  of  the  rational  system  ] 


250  JOUFFROY. 

It  is,  that  it  refers  to  intuitive  reason,  the  origin  of 
our  idea  of  good.  But  on  what  foundation  does  the 
rational  system  rest,  in  forming  this  conclusion?  Ne- 
cessarily, upon  the  characteristics  of  good,  as  they 
are  found  to  exist  in  moral  judgments,  and  upon  the 
nature  of  the  only  ideas  which  instinct  and  understand- 
ing can  give.  All  rational  systems  deny,  then,  ne- 
cessarily, that  instinct  or  understanding  are  capable 
of  revealing  our  true  good.  All  reject,  therefore,  the 
instinctive  and  the  selfish  ideas  of  good,  as  not  equiv- 
alent to  our  true  idea.  Thus  much  the  rational  system 
necessarily  denies  ;  arid  now,  on  the  other  hand,  what 
does  it,  by  an  equal  necessity,  admit  ?  It  admits  that 
good,  as  it  is  found  existing  in  moral  judgments,  is 
obligatory  and  impersonal  ;  in  other  words,  that  it 
has  the  authority  of  a  law  ;  and  that  it  is  good,  not 
only  in  reference  to  the  individual,  but  in  itself.  For 
such  are  the  characteristics  which  we  are  forced  to 
ascribe  to  the  idea,  as  revealed  by  intuitive  reason 
But,  gentlemen,  our  opinions  upon  these  points  are  al- 
ready entirely  made  up  ;  for  we  have  considered  and 
determined  them  at  length,  in  our  criticisms  of  the 
selfish  and  instinctive  systems.  Now,  if,  on  the  one 
hand,  these  points  are  all  settled  in  our  minds,  and  if, 
on  the  other,  all  rational  doctrines  are  unanimous  in 
relation  to  them,  it  is  useless  for  us  to  examine,  in 
detail,  the  parts  of  these  systems  in  which  they  are 
contained;  especially  as  we  shall  be  obliged  to  return 
to  the  consideration  of  these  truths,  and  to  establish 
them  scientifically,  when  we  attempt  to  lay  down  for 
ourselves  the  foundations  of  an  ethical  system.  There 
is  only  one  other  way,  therefore,  —  and  upon  this 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  PRICE.  251 

point  the  rational  systems  differ,  —  in  which  false 
representations  may  be  given  of  the  real  foundations 
of  morality  ;  and  this  point  is  the  only  one,  moreover, 
which  we  have  not  as  yet  determined  for  ourselves. 
It  is  the  nature  of  good.  What  is  good  ?  What  idea 
is  really  represented  by  this  word,  in  moral  judg- 
ments? Is  it  a  simple,  undefinable  idea?  Or  is  it 
an  idea  that  can  be  defined  and  resolved  into  some 
other  ?  If  so,  what  is  this  other  idea  ?  Such  is  the 
point  in  discussion  between  rational  philosophers  ;  and 
this  is  the  only  question  which  it  is  now  important  for 
us  to  determine.  Upon  this  point,  indeed,  we  have  ap- 
proached nearly  to  a  decision.  For  we  have  already 
removed  a  multitude  of  errors,  and  disengaged  many 
of  the  fundamental  truths  of  ethics.  This  problem 
alone  remains,  and  this  must  now  be  solved.  For 
how  can  we  determine  the  true  rules  of  human  con- 
duct, if  we  are  ignorant  of  the  essential  nature  of 
good  ;  that  is  to  say,  of  the  supreme  idea  from  which 
these  rules  must  be  derived.  Thus,  as  you  see,  our 
work  is  much  simplified  ;  and,  because  thus  simplified, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  examine  the  rational  systems 
upon  one  point  only.  We  can  easily,  then,  be  more 
rapid  in  this  part  of  our  historical  view. 

With  these  preliminary  observations,  gentlemen,  we 
will  proceed  to  the  discussion  of  the  rational  systems, 
and  commence  with  those  included  in  the  first  cate- 
gory ;  that  is  to  say,  with  those  which  consider  the 
idea  of  good  as  simple  and  irreducible. 

The  system  which  I  have  selected,  to  give  you  a  true 
and  complete  idea  of  these  systems,  is  that  of  Price, 
an  English  philosopher,  who  lived  in  the  eighteenth 


252 


JOUFFROY. 


century,  and  whose  writings  are  anterior  by  many 
years  to  the  first  work  of  Reid,  the  founder  of  the 
Scottish  school.  This  preference  of  the  moral  system 
of  Price  over  those  of  the  Scottish  school  which  take 
the  same  view,  does  not  arise  simply  from  the  fact 
of  its  priority,  but  yet  more  and  chiefly  from  the 
intrinsic  excellence  of  Price's  exposition,  which,  for 
extent  and  clearness  of  view,  is  superior  to  those  of 
either  Reid  or  Stewart. 

Price  is  not  the  first,  who,  in  England,  adopted  and 
taught  this  form  of  the  rational  system.  At  an  earlier 
day,  Cudworth  had  maintained  the  same  opinion  in 
opposition  to  the  system  of  Hobbes.  Cudworth's 
ideas  may  be  expressed  in  a  few  words.  He  taught 
that  our  ideas  of  good  and  of  evil  are  not  communi- 
cated by  either  sense  or  experience;  that  is  to  say, 
that  we  do  not  acquire  them  from  instinct,  nor  by 
deducing  from  instinct  the  notion  of  our  greatest  good. 
According  to  this  writer,  reason  instantly  conceives 
the  ideas  of  good  and  of  evil,  from  a  contemplation  of 
human  actions,  as  absolutely  as  it  conceives  the  idea 
of  cause  from  that  of  events,  or  the  idea  of  space 
from  that  of  bodies.  But,  as  when  we  behold  an 
event,  and  conceive  that  it  has  a  cause,  we  do  not 
deduce  the  idea  of  cause  from  that  of  the  event, 
although  this  latter  is  the  occasion  of  the  former, 

o 

so,  according  to  Cudworth,  the  ideas  of  good  and 
of  evil  do  not  originate  from  the  sight  of  actions ; 
but  actions  are  rather  the  occasions  when  these  ideas 
awake,  which  are  always  latent  within  us,  and  which, 
once  conceived,  become  universal.  Whence  come 
these  ideas  which  we  find  within  us  ?  From  the 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  PRICE.  253 

divine  mind,  which  is  their  natural  and  eternal  home, 
and  from  which  human  reason  is  an  emanation.  You 
recognize  in  this  system  the  doctrine  which  Plato  so 
admirably  unfolded.  According  to  this  system,  uni- 
versal and  absolute  ideas  of  good  and  evil,  of  beauty 
and  deformity,  of  truth  and  error,  exist  from  all  eter- 
nity. Emanating  from  the  supreme  reason,  our  minds 
preserve  a  confused  remembrance  of  these  ideas;  they 
sleep  in  us  until  external  occasion  awakens  them ; 
the  current  of  external  phenomena  soon  calls  them 
forth,  when  instantly  they  become  associated  with  all 
objects  around  us,  and  communicate  to  them  a  mean- 
ing and  a  character  which  they  have  not  in  them- 
selves. This  doctrine  of  ideas,  if  not  in  its  form  the 
most  strict  and  rigorous,  is  at  least  ingenious;  for  it 
not  only  recognizes  the  presence  of  these  ideas,  but 
explains  their  origin  and  cause.  In  reproducing  this 
system,  Cudworth  accomplished  the  end  that  he  had 
chiefly  in  view,  and  proved  that  our  moral  ideas  had 
not  that  merely  relative  and  indefinite  character  which 
the  system  of  Hobbes  supposed.  Actions  are  not 
good,  in  our  view,  on  account  of  their  relation  to 
the  sensual  desires  of  our  sensitive  nature,  transient 
and  accidental  as  these  necessarily  are.  The  idea 
of  good  exists  independently  of  every  act,  and  of 
every  individual  being.  It  is  eternal  and  immutable 
as  the  Deity  in  whom  it  resides.  Our  reason  does 
not  create  this  idea,  but  conceives  it,  and  judges 
actions  by  this  immutable  test.  With  the  idea  of 
good  is  directly  associated  the  idea  of  obligation  ;  so 
that  we  have  duties  and  a  law;  and  these  duties  and 
this  law  are  as  immutable  as  good  itself.  Cudworth 

VOL.    II.  W 


254 


JOUFFROY. 


declares  this  idea  of  good  to  be  simple  and  indefinable, 
and  thus  belongs  to  the  class  of  rational  philosophers 
whose  systems  we  are  now  engaged  in  considering. 
I  limit  myself  to  these  few  remarks  upon  the  system 
of  Cudworth.  They  will  suffice  to  show  you  that  the 
theory  of  Price  was  not  without  precedent  in  his  own 
country. 

What  Hobbes  was  to  Cudworth,  Hutcheson  was 
to  Price.  It  was  an  apprehension  of  the  consequences 
which  might  be  drawn  from  the  doctrine  of  the  Irish 
philosophers,  that  determined  him  to  write ;  and  it  was 
with  a  desire  of  preventing  these  consequences  that 
he  brought  forward  his  system. 

What  was  the  theory  of  Hutcheson  ?  It  may  be 
.described  under  three  heads.  He  taught,  first,  that 
our  ideas  of  good  and  evil  are  simple  and  origi- 
Inal;  secondly,  that,  being  simple  and  original,  they 
jmust  necessarily  be  derived  from  a  sense ;  thirdly, 
that,  as  each  sense  is  an  arbitrary  principle  of  our 
constitution,  good  and  evil  are  relative  to  our  con- 
stitution, and  have  no  more  objective  reality  than 
sweet  or  bitter ;  that  is,  they  would  change  their 
nature  if  we  were  changed  ourselves.  This  is  what 
Hutcheson  has  either  explicitly  asserted,  or  by  impli- 
cation allowed.  His  system,  strictly  interpreted,  would 
lead  to  the  conclusion,  that  the  words  good  and  evil 
did  not  designate  the  real  qualities  of  actions,  but 
simply  the  sensations  which  they  caused  in  us.  Now, 
if  this  is  true,  there  can  be  no  morality  ;  and  it  is 
true,  if  either  the  instinctive  system  or  the  selfish 
system  can  be  established ;  for  the  selfish  system, 
equally  with  the  instinctive,  asserts  that  an  action  is 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. PRICE.  255 

good,  only  because  it  is  fitted  to  produce  in  us  a 
certain  pleasure.  Price  saw,  distinctly,  both  the  iden- 
tity, under  this  point  of  view,  of  these  two  systems, 
and  the  dangerous  nature  of  the  consequences  in 
which  both  issue.  His  aim  was,  to  maintain  the 
objective  reality  and  the  immutability  of  good  and 
evil. 

Price,  gentlemen,  proceeds  like  a  master.  With 
clear  and  penetrating  view,  he  grasps  at  once  the/ 
essential  difficulty,  and  comes  directly  to  the  question,* 
which  must  be  clearly  stated  before  it  can  be  solved 
This  question  is  no  other  than  that  of  the  origin 
of  our  ideas.  For  what  is  really  the  point  in  dis- 
cussion ?  We  have  two  faculties,  the  intelligent  and 
the  sensitive  faculties.  The  first  of  these  sees  things 
as  they  are ;  the  second  perceives  only  the  effects 
which  they  produce  upon  us.  Ideas  communicated  by 
the  former,  denote  realities  which  are  independent  of 
ourselves,  and  which  would  exist  if  we  were  other- 
wise constituted,  and  even  if  we  ceased  to  be.  The 
ideas  communicated  by  the  latter,  on  the  other  hand, 
denote  only  inward  facts  and  sensations,  which  would 
not  exist  without  us,  and  would  change  if  we  were 
changed.  The  question  as  to  the  objective  reality 
and  immutability  of  good  and  evil,  reduces  itself,  then, 
to  this — Are  our  ideas  of  good  and  evil  of  the  first 
or  second  kind  now  mentioned  ?  Or,  which  amounts 
to  the  same  thing,  are  they  derived  from  our  intelli- 
gent or  from  our  sensitive  faculty  ?  Hutcheson  says 
that  they  are  derived  from  the  sensibility,  and,  con- 
sequently, that  they  are  of  the  second  kind.  But  why 
does  he  assert  this  ?  Because  he  admits  the  doctrine 


256  JOUFFROY. 

of  Locke,    as   to  the  origin  of  our   ideas.     What    is 

*  o 

this  doctrine  ?  It  is,  that  all  our  primitive  and 
original  ideas  are  derived  from  sensation  and  reflec- 
tion ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  they  are  all  communi- 
cated by  experience.  If  we  admit  that  this  doctrine 
is  true,  Hutcheson  has  good  ground  for  his  opinion ; 
for  understanding,  that  is  to  say,  observation,  applied 
to  actions,  would  not  discover  either  good  or  evil. 
Good  and  evil  are  not  visible  qualities  of  actions,  as 
form  and  extension  are  of  bodies.  These  words, 
therefore,  can  only  represent  the  sensations  of  pain 
or  pleasure,  which  actions  produce  in  us.  Now,  it  is 
a  fact,  that  actions  do  produce  in  us  such  sensations. 
This,  then,  is  exactly  what  the  ideas  of  good  and  evil 
represent.  These  ideas  are  derived,  therefore,  not  from 
the  intellect,  but  from  the  sensibility ;  and  as  they  are 
special  and  peculiar  ideas,  they  must  be  derived  from 
a  particular  sense  ;  so  that,  if  the  doctrine  of  Locke, 
as  to  the  origin  of  our  simple  ideas,  is  true,  Hutche- 
son's  argument  is  good,  and  his  system  is  established. 
The  question  to  be  determined,  then,  in  order  to 
decide  whether  he  is  right,  is,  simply,  whether  the 
opinion  of  Locke  as  to  the  origin  of  our  ideas  is 
well  founded.  This  is  the  very  point  which  Price 
first  takes  up ;  and  he  answers  it  by  proving  that  the 
system  of  Locke  is  false,  and  that  it  is  a  mistake  to 
suppose  that  all  our  simple  and  primitive  ideas  are 
derived  solely  from  experience. 

His  demonstration  is  as  complete  as  it  is  simple. 
He  takes  up  certain  ideas,  and  shows  that  they  cannot 
be  accounted  for  nor  explained,  either  by  the  opera- 
tions of  the  sensibility,  nor  of  the  intellect,  in  so  far 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. PRICE.  257 

as  it  is  an  empirical  faculty.  Sensibility  cannot  ex- 
plain them,  because  they  represent  no  sensation.  The 
intellect,  in  so  far  as  it  is  an  empirical  faculty,  cannot 
explain  them  either,  because,  in  the  first  place,  these 
ideas  represent  nothing  which  can  be  observed,  either 
within  or  without  us ;  and  because,  secondly,  they 
represent  that  which  transcends  the  bounds  of  all  ob- 
servation, and  of  all  generalization ;  in  other  words, 
these  ideas  are  absolute.  A  consideration,  which 
proves  decisively  that  these  ideas  do  not  originate  y 
from  experience,  is,  that  experience  presupposes  them  ; 
so  that  we  cannot  form  any  judgment  at  all,  or  come 
to  the  understanding  of  any  thing  whatever,  without 
these  ideas.  If  these  ideas  exist,  and  if  they  are  not 
derived  from  sensibility  nor  observation,  what  is  the 
consequence?  They  must  either  be  denied  or  recog- 
nized. To  deny  them  is  impossible,  although  Hume 
has  dared  to  attempt  it.  They  must,  then,  be  ad- 
mitted, either  as  the  pure  forms  of  our  own  minds, — 
and  then  we  fall,  as  Kant  at  a  later  period  fell,  into 
universal  skepticism,  —  or,  as  conceptions  of  real,  al- 
though invisible  facts.  Now,  evidently,  says  Price, 
this  latter  hypothesis  is  the  only  one  that  can  be  admit- 
ted, because  it  is  the  only  one  which  is  conformed 
to  the  universal  faith  of  humanity,  and  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  every  man.  When  we  conceive  the  ideas 
of  time,  space,  cause,  and  so  forth,  we  believe  firmly  1 
that  these  ideas  represent  external  realities,  although  \ 
these  realities  are  simply  intelligible,  and  not  visible. 
If  such  is  the  true  nature  of  our  ideas,  they  must 
necessarily  be  referred  to  some  faculty  which  per- 
ceives in  things  what  is  really  there,  that  is  to  say, 

W2 


258  JOUFFROY. 

to  the  intellect,  and  to  a  particular  exercise  of  this  fac- 
ulty, distinct  from  that  which  is  designated  by  the  word 
observation.  The  inJeHect  appears  under  two  forms, 
then,  as  empirical  intellect  or  understanding,  which 
sees  in  things  such  quautfes  as  can  be  observed,  and 

a  priori  intellect,  or  intuitive  reason,  which,   beyond 

i  r     -   _  i    »_i»'ir" i    in 

the  visible,  conceives  of  an  invisible,  that  transcends 
all  observation  and  all  experience.  The  doctrine 
of  Locke,  therefore,  is  too  narrow.  It  cannot  explain 
all  our  ideas.  It  is  true  that  there  are  only  two  sources 
of  primary  ideas  —  the  sensibility  and  intellect.  But 
Locke  has  recognized  in  the  intellect  only  the  power 
of  observation,  while,  in  addition  to  this,  it  includes 
intuitive  reason,  the  fruitful  source  of  all  these  primary 
ideas,  by  which  we  are  enabled  to  comprehend  the 
outward  world,  and  of  all  the  fundamental  ideas  of 
human  faith.  I  have  much  abridged,  and  have  ex- 
pressed in  my  own  way,  this  beautiful  demonstration 
of  Price,  which,  since  his  time,  we  have  seen  pro- 
fessed under  different  forms,  both  in  Scotland  and  in 
Germany.  But  Price  really  saw  all  that  I  have  now 
ascribed  to  him  ;  and  nothing  has  been  added  to  the 
views  which  he  suggests. 

From  this  determination,  Price  returns  to  the  ideas 
of  good  and  evil,  and  resumes  the  consideration  of 
Hutcheson's  reasoning  as  to  their  origin.  The  ideas 
of  good  and  evil  are  simple  and  primitive,  says 
Hutcheson  ;  and  Price  agrees  with  him.  If  they  are 
simple  and  primitive,  continues  Hutcheson,  they  must 
emanate  from  a  faculty  capable  of  giving  us  such 
ideas.  Now,  continues  Hutcheson,  we  perceive  good 
and  evil  in  actions,  as  we  perceive  extension  and  form 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  PRICE.  259 

in  bodies.  This  is  true,  says  Price.  These  ideas, 
then,  can  only  be  ideas  of  sensation,  says  Hutcheson  ; 
and  they  must  necessarily,  therefore,  be  attributed 
to  a  peculiar  sense,  which  is  agreeably  affected  by 
some  actions,  and  disagreeably  by  others.  Here  Price 
stops  Hutcheson.  Your  conclusion  is  not  a  just  one, 
he  says,  for,  besides  observation  and  sensibility,  there  j 
is  a  third  source  of  immediate  and  primary  ideas  —  | 
intuitive  reason.  It  is  true  that  observation  cannot 
give  us  the  ideas  of  good  and  evil,  as  you  have  proved ; 
but  there  are  two  other  faculties,  sensibility  and  intui- 
tive reason  ;  and  possibly  the  ideas  of  good  and  evil 
are  derived  from  the  last.  Now,  the  question  is,  are 
they  really  thus  derived,  or  do  they  come  from  sen- 
sibility ?  Price  answers  this  question  in  favor  of 
intuitive  reason.  In  a  few  words,  his  argument  is 

'  o 

as  follows : 

He  first  accounts  for  and  explains  the  opposite 
opinion.  It  originates  in  the  fact  that  good  and  evil, 
when  perceived  in  actions,  do  affect  us  agreeably  or 
disagreeably.  This  latter  fact  has  been  alone  re- 
garded, while  the  first,  although  necessarily  implied 
in  it,  has  been  overlooked.  What,  continues  Price, 
is  the  peculiar  mark  which  distinguishes  ideas  derived 
from  sensibility  from  those  derived  from  intellect  ? 
It  is  this  :  We  feel  that  the  former  represents  only 
our  own  sensations,  while  we  know  that  the  latter  / 
represent  realities  independent  of  ourselves.  Now, 
when  the  voice  of  humanity  declares,  that  ingratitude 
is  a  vice,  and  gratitude  a  virtue,  what  is  meant  by 
these  words  —  vice  and  virtue  ?  Do  they  mean  only 
that  these  two  courses  of  conduct  produce  in  us  cer- 


260  JOUFFROY. 

tain  sensations?  Or  do  we  not  rather  intend  that 
they  are  in  themselves  virtuous  and  vicious  ?  Evi- 
dently, the  consciousness  of  every  man  repels  the 
first  opinion,  and  admits  the  second.  But,  it  may  be 
asked,  do  not  men  believe  that  sweetness  and  bitterness 
reside  in  bodies '?  Yes,  answers  Price,  although  upon 
reflection  they  discover  that  this  is  an  illusion,  because 
the  idea  of  body  is  found  to  be  incompatible  with 
that  of  these  qualities.  On  the  contrary,  when  we 
reflect,  not  only  do  we  find  that  the  ideas  of  good 
and  of  evil  and  the  ideas  of  actions  are  compatible 
with  each  other,  but  we  see  that  it  is  absurd  to  sup- 
pose that  good  and  evil  are  only  impressions  in  our 
own  minds,  and  not  the  qualities  of  actions.  If  we 
admit  the  idea  that  they  are  only  impressions  in 
ourselves,  we  must  be  led  to  consequences  of  which 
each  is  more  repugnant  than  the  other.  If  this  were 
true,  it  would  be  impossible  that  we  should  ever  be 
deceived  in  moral  judgments,  because  the  impressions 
in  which  good  and  evil  consist  must  always  be  what 
we  at  the  moment  feel ;  so  that,  when  two  opposite 
judgments  are  passed  upon  the  same  action,  by  differ- 
ent individuals,  or  by  the  same  individual  at  different 
times,  both  must  be  entitled  to  equal  weight.  Again, 
if  it  were  true,  actions  would  be  indifferent  in  them- 
selves ;  for  intellect  sees  only  things  as  they  are,  and 
*t  cannot  see  good  or  evil  :  all  actions,  all  conduct, 
therefore,  would  be  equally  indifferent  to  God,  who  is 
pure  intellect.  Finally,  if  it  were  true,  nothing  could 
be  obligatory,  for  no  one  can  be  obliged  to  do  what 
is  merely  agreeable,  and  to  abstain  from  doing  what 
is  merely  disagreeable.  Thus  all  considerations  com- 


UK 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTKM.  -  PRICE.  201 


bine  to  show  the  falseness  of  the  hypothesis  that  the 
ideas  of  good  and  evil  express  only  our  sensations. 
All  prove  that  they  answer  to  real  qualities  in  actions. 
The  consequences  of  Hutcheson's  doctrine,  then,  are 
overturned,  and  what  Price  has  demonstrated  to  be 
possible  is  now  proved  to  be  true  :  these  ideas  arise 
not  from  sensation,  but  from  intuitive  reason ;  they 
are  a  priori  conceptions  of  reason. 

Such,   gentlemen,  is   Price's    demonstration    of  the  • 
rational   origin   of  moral   ideas.      This   demonstration  ; 
is  not  only  beautiful,  it  is  invulnerable;    and   from  it 
may    be    deduced    at    once  the   necessary  conclusion, 
that  good  and  evil  are  immutable. 

All  real  qualities  of  things,  says  Price,  are  derived 
from    their   nature.      Now,    the   nature    of    things    is 
immutable.       God    may    destroy   what    exists,    but    he 
cannot   make   it  to   be   what   it  is  not.     No  will,  and 
no  power,  therefore,  can   alter  the  nature  of  things  ; 
and  this  is  equally  true  of  their  real  qualities.     Good 
and  evil,   then,  being   real   qualities,  are  as  immutable 
as    the    nature    of    the    actions    from    which   they    are    , 
derived;   so  that  no  power  nor  will  —  not  even  those:  \ 
of  God  —  can    make    good    actions  other   than   good.  \ 
What   they    are,    they   are    as    eternally   as    a  triangle  i 
or  a  circle  is  what  it  is.     Every  true  moral   judgment,  I 
therefore,    expresses    an    absolute,    immutable,    eternal    \ 
truth. 

Having  thus  demonstrated  that  these  ideas  of  good 
and  of  evil  are  not  subjective,  that  they  are  immutable, 
and  that  their  origin  is  rational,  he  proceeds  to  de- 
scribe the  mode  in  which  they  are  conceived  or  per- 
ceived by  reason.  For  it  is  not  enough  to  show 


262  JOUFFROY. 

that  the  idea  of  good  is  given  only  by  reason ;  it 
must  also  be  shown  how  it  is  given.  Upon  this 
point,  Price  is  much  less  explicit  than  upon  the 
former.  Indeed,  it  might  be  said  that  he  does  not 
touch  upon  it  at  all ;  but  his  opinion,  nevertheless, 
may  be  so  clearly  inferred  from  his  other  ideas,  that 
it  is  impossible  to  misunderstand  its  nature. 

According  to  his  doctrine,  the  conception  of  good 
and  of  evil  arises  whenever  we  behold  the  acts  of 
free  and  intelligent  beings.  Good  and  evil,  therefore, 
are  only  the  qualities  of  such  actions.  These  quali- 
ties, indeed,  are  invisible  to  observation,  but  they  are 
intelligible  to  reason.  As,  when  I  see  an  event, 
I  form  the  conception  that  it  transpires  in  time, 
although  time  is  invisible,  so,  when  I  see  certain 
actions,  I  conceive  that  they  are  good  and  bad.  Price 
distinctly  denies  that  this  character  of  being  good 
or  bad  is  owing  to  the  agreement  or  disagreement 
of  actions  with  an  external  fact,  such  as  order,  the 
will  of  God,  or  the  nature  of  things.  Neither  docs 
he  think  that  this  character  is  owing  to  the  agreement 
or  disagreement  of  actions  with  an  absolute  idea 
of  good  and  evil  —  the  typical  idea  which  Plato  and 
Cudworth  supposed  to  exist  in  our  minds.  His  opinion 
rather  seems  to  be  that  the  moral  character  of  actions 
is  instantly  recognized.  And  this  character  is  seen 
to  be  always  identically  the  same,  however  numerous 
or  various  may  be  the  acts  in  which  we  observe  it; 
it  is  still  the  same  quality  which  makes  them  good. 
But  \ve  do  not,  except  after  having  often  observed  it, 
disengage  the  idea  of  this  quality  in  such  a  way  as 
to  be  able  to  apply  it  to  the  future  as  a  formula,  and 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. PRICE.  263 

so  judge  of  actions  by  their  agreement  or  disagreement 
with  this  type.  In  every  particular  instance,  the 
character  of  the  action  is  instantly  recognized  by  / 
reason,  as  soon  as  the  circumstances  of  its  agent  and 
its  object  are  accurately  known.  For,  by  action, 
Price  does  not  understand  simply  the  physical  act, 
but  also  the  motive  which  produces  it,  the  end  to 
which  it  leads,  the  nature  and  situation  of  the  person 
who  performs  it,  and  of  the  person  whom  it  affects, 
arid,  in  a  word,  all  its  attendant  circumstances;  so 
that,  if  these  circumstances  are  changed,  while  the 
act  physically  remains  the  same,  the  action  itself  is 
changed.  The  mind,  then,  according  to  Price,  does 
not  proceed  from  the  idea  of  good  to  the  idea  of  the 
principal  virtues,  and  from  the  idea  of  these  to  that 
of  the  different  cases  in  which  they  are  observed ; 
but  it  follows  just  the  opposite  course.  The  quality  ,-? 
of  goodness  is  first  recognized  in  particular  acts;  I  / 
and  then,  the  actions  being  more  nearly  observed,  y  < 
it  is  perceived  that  they  may  be  readily  classed  under  / 
a  few  heads,  such  as  justice,  truth,  benevolence, 
gratitude.  Hence  the  idea  of  the  different  virtues, 
and  of  the  different  branches  of  duty.  The  mind 
perceives,  to  be  sure,  that  all  these  virtues  are  virtues, 
by  reason  of  the  presence  of  this  same  quality  of 
goodness ;  but  they  are,  nevertheless,  different,  and 
cannot  be  resolved  into  each  other.  It  is  true,  and 
evidently  true,  for  instance,  that  it  is  right  to  be  just, 
honest,  kind ;  but  these  several  truths  cannot  be 
deduced  from  each  other,  nor  from  any  higher  truth. 
They  still  remain  so  many  primary,  distinct  truths 
They  all  imply,  indeed,  that  the  character  of  goodness 


264 


JOUFFROY. 


may  be  recognized  in  these  particular  actions ;  but, 
as  this  recognition  is,  in  each  case,  a  simple  fact, 
to  be  explained  by  nothing  simpler  than  itself,  and, 
consequently,  by  no  one  reason  common  to  them  all, 
we  can  ascend  no  higher,  and  must  pause  here.  These 
separate  truths,  says  Price,  are  portions  of  that  eternal 
and  immutable  truth,  which  is  a  mode  of  God's  own 
being.  In  God,  the  eternal  and  immutable  idea  of 
good,  and  the  eternal  distinction  of  good  and  evil, 
abide  with  these  separate  truths  forever.  Such  is 
the  manner  in  which  Price  understands  our  rational 
conception  of  good,  and  in  which  he  explains  our 
moral  judgments. 

As  to  the  idea  of  good,  Price  asserts  that  it  is 
simple ;  which  amounts  to  saying  that  good  in  itself, 
or  the  quality  by  which  all  good  actions  are  consti- 
tuted good,  seems  to  him  to  be  a  quality  sui  gcMeris, 
original,  and  incapable  of  being  decomposed,  —  like 
whiteness,  for  instance,  —  and,  consequently,  quite  as 
indefinable  as  this.  From  this  you  may  see,  that 
the  opinion  of  Price  is  veiled  by  no  obscurity,  and 
that  he  evidently  belongs  to  the  first  category  of 
rational  philosophers.  You  will  easily  comprehend, 
gentlemen,  that  such  an  opinion,  however  firmly 
believed,  is  not  of  a  kind  to  be  established  by  direct 
proofs.  How  could  you  prove  that  whiteness  is  a 
simple  quality,  arid,  consequently,  that  it  is  indefinable? 
Whiteness  is  a  fact,  and  we  can  only  affirm  it.  Price 
thinks  it  is  the  same  with  our  idea  of  good;  he  limits 
himself,  therefore,  to  the  assertion,  that  the  quality 
represented  by  this  word  is  simple,  and  summons  those 
who  pretend  to  define  it  to  describe  its  elements.  But, 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. PRICE.  265 

although  his  direct  proofs  are  reduced  to  this  mere 
assertion,  he  produces  an  abundance  of  indirect  proofs 
to  support  his  opinion.  He  demands  the  reason  why, 
if  good  is  definable,  this  definition  is  not  to  be  found 
in  every  mind,  and  why  philosophers  who  have  sought 
it  have  been  led  to  such  different  modes  of  expression. 
He  reviews  these  different  modes,  and  attempts,  on  the 
one  hand,  to  show  the  illusion  by  which  it  has  been 
supposed  that  they  were  definitions ;  and,  on  the  other, 
to  prove  that  they  are  not  definitions.  Some,  he 
thinks,  express  only  circumstances  or  effects  insepara- 
ble from  good ;  others  mistake  a  particular  instance 
of  good  for  good  itself.  Instances  of  the  first  kind 
may  be  seen  in  such  formulas  as  these:  —  Good  is 
that  which  ought  to  be  done ;  good  is  perfection ; 
good  is  excellence ;  to  act  well  is  to  act  according 
to  the  nature  of  things,  or  conformably  to  the  fitness 
of  things,  or  conformably  to  the  will  of  God,  to  the 
laws  of  reason,  to  order,  and  so  forth.  He  includes, 
in  the  second  category,  all  those  systems  which  have 
elevated  one  virtue  —  such  as  veracity,  benevolence, 
social  feeling  —  into  a  type  of  virtue,  and  have  given 
the  definition  of  this  particular  virtue  as  a  definition 
of  virtue  itself.  He  then  demonstrates  that  these 
pretended  definitions  are  all  inadequate;  shows  that 
they  none  of  them  define  good  itself,  but  some  other 
thing,  while  they  all  presuppose  the  very  idea  of  good  v 
which  they  attempt  to  explain.  He  shows,  further, 
that  they  do  not  tend  to  make  the  idea  of  good  clearer, 
because,  as  they  presuppose  this  idea,  it  is  necessary 
that  it  should  be  conceived  before  they  themselves 
can  be  comprehended.  And,  finally,  he  shows  that, 


266 


JOUFFROY. 


as  criteria  to  determine  what  is  good,  they  are  all 
useless,  because  the  judgment  of  good  is  formed  in- 
stantly ;  and  that  they  are  all  inexact  and  dangerous, 
because  less  comprehensive  than  the  idea  of  good 
itself.  He  dwells  at  length  upon  the  definitions  of 
the  second  class,  and  proves  in  detail  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  derive  all  virtues  from  a  single  one  ;  and 
that  each  virtue  may  be  deduced  from  every  other 
with  equal  propriety;  that  benevolence  can  as  well 
be  deduced  from  veracity,  for  example,  as  veracity 
from  benevolence. 

To  all  such  definitions  Price  opposes  at  once  the 
testimony  of  consciousness,  which  gives,  he  thinks, 
clear  evidence,  in  the  first  place,  that  we  ourselves 
are  not  governed  by  any  of  these  definitions  in  our 
judgment  of  actions;  secondly,  that  moral  judgments 
are  passed  by  children,  who  make  no  inquiries  as  to 
the  truth  of  these  formulas,  and  who,  indeed,  are 
incapable  of  such  processes  of  reasoning,  as  the 
moral  appreciation  of  actions  by  these  formulas  would 
imply;  and,  finally,  that  they  are  passed  by  people 
at  large,  in  whom,  as  is  easily  seen,  a  like  ignorance 
and  incapacity  of  reasoning  exist. 

Whence  originate,  says  Price,  these  various  defi- 
nitions, and  the  systems  which  suggest  them  ?  From 
two  different  sources  —  the  desire  of  explaining  moral 
judgments,  and  the  love  of  simplicity.  It  gratifies  our 
taste  for  order  to  refer  all  virtues  to  a  single  one,  of 
which  they  are  but  varieties,  and  to  prove,  by  their 
partaking  of  this  supreme  virtue,  that  they  all  are 
virtues.  But,  if  this  theory  was  in  harmony  with 
truth,  there  would  always  be  some  first  act  imme- 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  PRICE.  267 

diately  recognized  as  good,  without  our  being  able 
to  assign  any  other  reason  for  it  than  that  it  is  per- 
ceived to  be  so.  Thus,  on  the  one  hand,  the  reason 
which  proves  it  to  be  the  supreme  virtue,  and  there- 
fore the  true  foundation  of  moral  conduct,  would 
remain  unknown ;  and,  on  the  other,  though  we 
should  have  a  definition  of  the  act  immediately  con- 
ceived to  be  good,  still  the  idea  of  good  conceived 
in  this  act  would  be  indefinable.  These  various  sys- 
tems therefore,  fail  of  the  double  end  at  which  they 
aim:  they  do  riot  succeed,  either  in  defining  good, 
or  in  showing  the  foundation  of  morality. 

Such,  gentlemen,  in  a  very  abridged  form,  are 
the  reasons  by  which  Price  supports  the  opinion 
that  good  is  not  susceptible  of  definition.  In  regard 
to  these  arguments,  one  reflection  must  have  occurred 
to  you,  which  is,  that,  from  many  of  the  reasonings, 
and  from  the  theory  of  the  author,  as  to  the  manner 
in  which  good  is  perceived,  it  would  seem  to  result, 
that  reasoning  is  of  no  use  in  moralitv^jdnce  eacji 
action  is  judged  of  instantly  and  by  itself.  _  This 
consequence  of  his  ideas  has  not  escaped  the  attention 
of  Price,  and  I  should  be  doing  him  injustice,  not 
to  inform  you  of  the  way  in  which  he  attempts  to 
avoid  it. 

Two  causes  produce  the  difficulties  which  we  meet 
with  in  our  moral  judgments,  and  explain  the  inter- 
vention of  reasoning  and  of  discussion  upon  the  mo- 
rality of  acts.  The  first  is  the  conflict  that  frequently 
arises  between  different  dutleT;  'the  seconaTThe  need 
of  determining  the  attendant  circumstances  of  actions, 
before  deciding  upon  jheir^  character.  Although  in 


v 


268  JOUFFROY. 

both  cases  our  judgment  is  the  effect  of  the  immediate 
conception  of  reason,  still  the  nature  of  the  question 
to  be  decided  gives  rise  to  discussions  and  all  possible 
varieties  of  opinion ;  and  as  upon  the  exactness  with 
which  all  the  circumstances  are  determined,  depends 
the  justice  of  our  moral  estimates,  various  errors  may 
easily  be  committed. 

I  have  wished,  gentlemen,  to  give  you  a  clear  idea 
of  the  manner  in  which  Price  supports  his  opinion 
as  to  the  nature  of  good,  and  the  fundamental  question 
of  its  being  definable.  Upon  other  parts  of  his 
system  I  shall  be  more  rapid. 

Price  shows  that  the  intuition,  by  which  the  moral 
quality  of  acts  is  revealed,  is  followed  by  facts  pre- 
supposing it,  some  of  which  are  separate  intuitions 
of  reason,  while  others  are  facts  of  a  mixed  nature, 
at  once  rational  and  sensible. 

To  this  latter  class  belongs  the  judgment  which 
declares  good  actions  to  be  beautiful  and  pleasing, 
and  bad  actions  ugly  and  detestable.  Is  the  agreeable 
emotion  that  good  actions  occasion  in  us  a  subjective 
fact  only,  that  is  to  say,  does  it  depend  entirely  upon 
the  nature  of  our  sensibility,  or  does  it  partake  in 
any  way  of  the  objectivity  of  our  moral  ideas  ?  Such 
is  the  question  which  Price  suggests,  and  which  he  ex- 
tends, successively,  to  many  other  of  our  natural  affec- 
tions. I  can  only  indicate  his  conclusion,  which  is 
wholly  original,  and  well  worthy  of  a  more  thorough 
examination  than  I  can  now  enter  into.  According  to 
Price,  among  the  pleasures  experienced  by  our  sensi- 
tive nature,  there  are  some  which  are  inexplicable, 
and  which  can  be  accounted  for  only  by  saying  that 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  PRICE. 

we  are  so  constituted  as  necessarily  to  be  thus  af- 
fected ;  but  there  are  others  which  seem  to  have 
•  their  cause  in  the  eternal  nature  of  things,  and  which 
consequently  appear  to  be  produced,  not  as  a  result 
of  the  arbitrary  constitution  of  our  nature,  but  as 
a  necessary  consequence  of  the  nature  of  the  objects 
producing  them.  Such  is  the  pleasure  which  the 
sight  of  virtue  or  of  moral  good  occasions ;  and  such, 
too,  are  the  pleasures  derived  from  the  ideas  of  hap- 
piness, of  order,  and  the  like.  In  all  such  cases,  the 
sensible  effect  appears  to  us  essential  to  the  nature 
of  the  object  that  produces  it.  Thus  these  objects 
produce,  at  first,  a  pleasure  which  is  purely  intellect- 
ual, and,  as  such,  perfectly  independent  of  our  natural 
constitution.  But  this  pleasure  would  be  too  cold  to 
attract  us  powerfully  towards  its  exciting  cause;  and 
God  has  willed,  therefore,  that  it  should  be  accompanied 
by  another,  which  is  more  energetic,  and  has  placed 
in  us  special  instincts,  which  attract  us  to  good,  to 
order,  and  the  like,  and  by  reason  of  which  all  things 
affect  us  sensibly  with  greater  energy.  Good  pro- 
duces in  us,  therefore,  two  kinds  of  pleasure  ;  one, 
purely  intellectual,  produced  by  the  essence  of  good 
itself;  the  other,  sensible  and  more  energetic,  derived 
from  the  arbitrary  constitution  of  our  nature.  This 
theory  is,  I  repeat,  an  ingenious  one :  and  Price  deduces 
from  it  an  explanation  of  the  happiness  of  God,  which 
is  equally  so.  Not  having  time  to  examine  this  theory 
in  itself  and  in  its  consequences,  I  can  only  point 
it  out  to  your  attention.  Another  phenomenon  of  the 
same  kind  is  that  occasioned  by  the  practice  of  good 
and  of  evil,  that  is  to  say,  the  pain  of  doing  ill,  and  the 

X   2 


270 


JOUFFROV. 


pleasure  of  doing  well.     But  I  cannot  dwell  on  this 
point,    and   pass,  therefore,  at  once    to   the    a  prio* 
conceptions,    which     accompany,    in    our    minds,    the 
moral   conception,  properly  so  called,  or  the  intuitive 
j        idea  of  good. 

\JV\  The  first  is  that  of  duty  or  obligation.  This  is  so 
V  %y  closely  connected  with  that  of  good,  says  Price,  that 
\j  one  cannot  arise  without  the  other;  or  rather  it  may 
be  said  that  they  are  two  different  forms  of  one  and 
the  same  conception.  To  ask  why  we  are  obliged  to 
do  what  is  good,  is  absurd,  for  it  is  to  ask  why  good 
is  good,  or  why  we  ought  to  do  what  we  ought  to  do. 
This  being  the  case,  it  follows,  that  all  the  qualities 
of  good  are  communicated  to  the  obligation  to  do  it; 
and  as  one  is  immutable  and  independent  of  the 
person  perceiving  it,  that  the  other  must  be  so  too. 
Obligation  partakes,  therefore,  of  the  objective  reality 
of  good ;  and  if  no  power  nor  will  can  change  what 
is  good,  neither  can  any  will  or  power  create,  suppress, 
nor  alter  duty.  It  follows  yet  further,  that  duty  cannot 
be  resolved  into  the  idea  of  the  will  or  power  of  God, 
because  it  is  not  to  the  idea  of  will  or  power  that 
the  idea  of  obligation  is  attached,  but  to  the  idea 
of  good;  so  that,  before  we  can  feel  ourselves  obliged 
to  do  what  God  wills,  we  must  conceive  that  the  will 
of  God  is  identical  with  good.  Such  is  the  strength 
of  the  tie  which  unites  the  ideas  of  good  and  of 
obligation,  that,  being  unable  to  conceive  of  a  perfect 
perception  of  good  in  God,  we  are  unable  to  think 
of  him  as  subject  to  moral  obligation,  like  ourselves. 
This  view  does  not  at  all  interfere  with  the  idea  of 
the  omnipotence  of  God,  as  it  is  only  saying  that  the 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  TRICE.  271 

pow^epr.  of  God  is  not  competent  to  change  his  own 
^,e,  in  which  good  is  essential,  and  of  which  it  is 
a  uiode.  Another  remark  of  Price  is,  that,  if  the 
idea  of  obligation  is  inherent  in  that  of  good,  then 
is  there  no  other  law  than  good,  and  nothing  can  be 
a  law  except  by  its  partaking  of  good.  For,  as  the 
idea  of  law  implies  that  of  obligation,  and  that  of 
obligation  implies  that  of  good,  it  follows  that  the 
first  implies  the  third.  Thus  all  the  qualities  attrib- 
uted to  law  —  its  objectivity,  its  superiority  to  the 
individual,  its  immutability,  and  the  like,  — are  all  pre- 
cisely the  characteristics  of  good.  Such  is  Price's 
view  of  the  nature  of  obligation,  and  of  the  origin 
of  the  idea. 

A  second  conception  connected  with  the  idea  of 
good  is,  that  its  performance  renders  the  agent  worthy 
of  happiness,  and  the  practice  of  evil  worthy  of  suf- 
fering ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  virtue  has  merit  and 
vice  demerit.  This  conception  is  as  immediate  as 
the  former  one,  for  the  idea  of  merit  is  no  less  essen- 
tially implied  in  that  of  virtue,  than  the  idea  of  oblf- 
gation  is  in  that  of  good.  This  conception,  says 
"Price,  is  perfectly  distinct  from  the  fact  that  virtue 
is  a  source  of  pleasure :  for  it  is  one  thing  to  learn 
by  experience  that  virtue  is  accompanied  by  happiness, 
arid  another  to  conceive  of  it  as  a  necessary  truth, 
that  virtue  deserves  happiness.  Neither  does  this 
conception  result  from  the  view  that. virtue  is  useful 
to  society ;  for  even  if  this  consideration  inclines  us 
to  wish  well  to  the  virtuous  man,  we  still  are  distinctly 
conscious  that  we  are  impelled  to  wish  it,  by  an 
anterior  consideration  more  direct  and  simple,  which 


272  JOUFFROY. 

is,    that   he    is  virtuous,    and  that    virtue    in    itself  is 
worthy   of  happiness. 

Such  is  the  description  which  Price  has  given  of 
moral  facts.  The  remainder  of  his  work  is  princi- 
pally devoted  to  two  subjects  :  first,  to  a  description 
of  the  actions  in  which  we  discover  moral  goodness ; 
and  secondly,  to  an  examination  of  the  difference 
between  absolute  virtue  and  practical  virtue,  and  to 
an  analysis  of  the  faculties  which  render  a  being 
capable  of  virtue.  I  have  not  time  to  exhibit  Price's 
doctrine  upon  these  two  secondary  questions.  It  is 
sufficient  to  say  that  it  offers  nothing  which  is  new, 
or  which  goes  beyond  the  most  simple  conceptions 
of  common  sense.  Consistently  with  his  principle, 
that  we  conceive  immediately  of  the  good  of  every 
action,  he  denies  that  there  is  any  one  duty  from 
which  all  others  can  be  deduced,  or,  what  amounts 
to  the  same  thing,  any  one  virtue,  into  which  all 
others  may  be  resolved,  and  limits  himself  to  a  simple 
enumeration  of  virtues.  As  to  the  second  question, 
Price,  like  every  body  else,  determines  that  liberty 
and  intelligence  are  the  necessary  conditions  for  the 
performance  of  moral  actions ;  and  he  makes  a  dis- 
tinction, as  other  writers  have  done,  between  absolute 
virtue,  which  consists  in  doing,  voluntarily  and  intel 
ligently,  acts  which  are  conformable  to  the  moral  law, 
and  practical  virtue,  which  consists  in  doing  what 
we  believe  to  be  conformable  to  good,  even  when  it 
is  not.  There  is  nothing  here,  as  you  may  readily 
see,  which  has  not  been  recognized  and  announced 
?)y  all  moral  philosophers. 

You  will  pardon  me,  gentlemen,  that  I  have  been 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. PRICE. 

led,  notwithstanding  my  promise  of  being  rapid,  into 
so  detailed  a  description  of  the  system  of  Price ;  for 
this  writer  gives  so  clear  and  orderly  an  exposition 
of  all  that  is  most  essential  in  the  rational  system, 
that  I  have  thought  it  better  to  avail  myself  of  this 
opportunity  to  exhibit  it  to  you  as  a  whole.  Once 
having  thus  set  before  you  the  type  of  all  rational 
systems,  it  will  be  only  necessary  to  point  out  the 
particulars  in  which  other  forms  of  the  rational  system 
differ  from  it ;  and  these  differences,  as  I  have  already 
said,  are  principally  in  relation  to  the  nature  of  good, 
and  to  the  possibility  of  defining  it. 

Before  testing,  however,  by  this  fundamental  ques- 
tion, other  forms  of  the  rational  system,  I  will,  in 
my  next  lecture,  enter  into  a  strict  and  thorough 
examination  of  the  doctrine  of  Price. 


274  JOUFFROY 


LECTURE    XXII. 

THE   RATIONAL  SYSTEM. —  CRITICISM  OF  PRICE. 

GENTLEMEN, 

THE  object  of  my  last  lecture  was  to  make 
you  acquainted  with  the  principal  points  of  the  moral 
system  of  Price.  This  system  may  be  divided  into 
two  portions;  the  one  negative,  the  other  positive. 
The  negative  portion  first  demonstrates  that  the  quali- 
ties of  good  are  such  as  make  the  supposition  im- 
possible that  they  are  derived  from  instinct,  or  from 
understanding,  and  then  proves  that  the  idea  is  com- 
municated by  intuitive  reason.  This  negative  portion 
I  adopt  unreservedly.  The  positive  portion  compre- 
hends two  branches  ;  first,  Price's  opinion  as  to  the 
nature  of  good,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  is  con- 
ceived ;  secondly,  the  description  of  the  rational  and 
sensitive  phenomena  which  accompany  this  conception. 
I  adopt,  also,  with  some  modifications,  this  lattei 
portion  of  Price's  positive  system ;  but,  as  to  the 
nature  of  good,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  is  revealed, 
my  views  are  entirely  different  from  his.  And  I  pro- 
pose,  in  this  lecture,  to  describe  the  nature  of  this 
difference.  It  was  precisely  because  I  thus  disagree 
with  Price  upon  a  question  of  such  importance,  that 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    275 

I  thought  it  my  duty,  in  the  preceding  lecture,  to 
make  you  fully  acquainted  with  his  system  and  argu- 
ments. One  other  reason  also  influenced  me  —  that 
the  opinion  of  Price  upon  this  fundamental  point  has 
had  great  weight  in  his  own  country,  where  the  doc- 
trines of  the  Scottish  school  have  made  it  popular. 
For  the  system  of  Price  is,  in  fact,  the  system  of  Reid 
and  of  Dugald  Stewart.  Undoubtedly,  these  latter 
philosophers  have  enlarged  the  field  upon  which  their 
predecessor  entered,  by  introducing  into  their  moral 
researches  an  examination  of  the  laws  and  operations 
of  self-love  and  of  instinct.  But,  as  to  the  moral 
problem,  properly  so  called,  they  have  regarded  it 
from  the  same  point  of  view,  and  have  arrived,  by 
the  same  road,  at  the  same  conclusions.  A  short 
description  of  the  manner  in  which  Stewart  has  an- 
swered this  problem  may  suffice  to  establish  this  point. 
Allow  me,  for  a  moment,  to  dwell  upon  this ;  I  will 
then  pass  to  the  critical  examination,  which  I  an- 
nounced as  the  subject  of  the  present  lecture. 

Stewart,  in  his  "  Outlines,"  of  which  I  have  pub- 
lished a  translation,  and  also  in  his  posthumous  work 
upon  the  "  Active  and  Moral  Faculties  of  Man,"  which 
is  to  be  translated,  divides  the  fundamental  problem 
of  morality  into  two  distinct  questions,  of  which  the 
first  relates  to  the  nature  of  good,  and  the  second 
to  the  faculty  which  reveals  it.  These  questions  he 
successively  examines. 

His  conclusions  upon  the  first  point  are  as  follows  : 
he  affirms  that  the  perception  of  actions  is  the  occa- 
sion, when  the  idea  of  good  arises  within  us ;  that 
this  idea  represents  a  particular  quality  of  actions, 


276  JOUFFROY. 

and  the  idea  of  evil  the  opposite  quality  ;  that  these 
qualities  exist  in  actions,  independently  of  ourselves, 
as  primary  qualities  do  in  bodies,  and  that  they  do 
not  arise  from  the  simple  relation  of  actions  to  us, 
as  the  secondary  qualities  of  bodies  do.  As  to  the 
nature  of  these  qualities,  he  declares,  that,  like  our 
ideas  of  them,  they  are  perfectly  original,  simple, 
irreducible,  and,  consequently,  indefinable.  And, 
following  the  examples  of  Price  and  of  Reid,  whom 
he  quotes,  he  shows  that  we  can  define  the  words 
good  and  evil  only  by  a  use  of  synonymous  phrases, 
or  by  substituting,  for  the  ideas  represented,  some 
circumstance  which  accompanies  their  perception. 
Such  are  Stewart's  opinions  as  to  the  nature  of  good. 
In  regard  to  the  faculty  by  which  good  in  acts  is 
perceived,  he  says  it  must  be  sought  in  the  incontesta- 
ble facts  as  to  the  nature  of  good  already  established. 
And,  after  a  review  of  the  different  opinions  suc- 
cessively professed  upon  this  point  in  England,  he 
lays  down  the  following  conclusions:  —  First,  that, 
as  good  is  a  simple  and  real  quality  in  actions,  the 
idea  can  be  referred  only  to  a  faculty  which  com- 
municates original  ideas,  and  which  is  capable  of 
seeing  in  things  their  inherent  qualities ;  secondly, 
that  this  idea  cannot  be  referred  to  a  sense  similar 
in  kind  to  taste  and  smell,  because  such  senses  do 
not  reveal  to  us  what  things  are  in  themselves,  but 
simply  the  effects  which  they  produce  upon  us;  thirdly, 
that  neither  can  it  be  referred  to  reason,  if  by  reason 
is  understood  only  the  faculty  which  perceives  the 
relations  of  things,  and  deduces  consequences  from 
ideas  already  obtained,  because  the  idea  of  good 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    277 

is  an  original  and  primary  idea,  and  not  an  idea 
of  relation  or  consequence ;  fourthly,  that,  if  by  sense 
is  meant  a  faculty  analogous  to  that  which  perceives 
extension  in  bodies,  and  if  by  reason  is  understood 
intuitive  reason,  which  gives  us  simple  arid  original 
ideas  of  space,  time,  cause,  the  idea  of  good  may 
be  referred  either  to  a  sense  or  to  reason ;  fifthly, 
that,  as  to  a  choice  between  these  two  sources  of  the 
idea,  he  inclines  to  adopt  reason,  though  declaring, 
at  the  same  time,  that  the  question  is  of  little  impor- 
tance, if  it  is  once  admitted  that  the  words  good  and 
evil  represent  simple  and  real  qualities  of  actions. 

Such,  gentlemen,  is  the  doctrine  of  Stewart ;  and 
no  commentary  is  needed  to  show  that  it  is  perfectly 
identical  with  that  of  Price.  I  pass  at  once,  therefore, 
to  the  examination  of  this  system,  which  was  proposed 
as  the  subject  of  the  present  lecture. 

There  is  but  one  way  to  determine  its  truth  and 
value,  and  that  is  to  compare  it  with  the  facts  which 
it  pretends  to  represent.  Let  me  recall  these  facts, 
then,  to  your  minds,  in  as  few  words  as  possible. 

Observation  attests,  and  reason  conceives,  that  every 
human  action  must  have  a  motive  and  an  end.  In 
seeking  to  determine  what  are  the  distinct  ends  of 
human  action,  we  find  that  they  may  be  reduced  to 
three  ;  first,  the  peculiar  object  of  some  one  natural 
desire ;  secondly,  the  complete  satisfaction  of  our  whole 
nature,  or  the  pleasure  which  accompanies  this  satis- 
faction ;  thirdly,  that  which  is  good  in  itself.  We  find 
also  that  all  the  distinct  motives  of  human  action 
may  be  reduced  to  three,  which  correspond  to  these 
three  ends ;  first,  some  natural  instinct ;  secondly,  the 


278 


JOUFFROY. 


desire  of  secondary  formation,  which  we  call  self-love, 
or  the  desire  of  happiness  ;  thirdly,  obligation.  From 
these  arise  three  distinct  forms  of  volition,  if  we 
pass  by  those  mixed  forms  which  result  from  the 
possible  combinations  of  these  three  ends  and  mo- 
tives. 

This  being  premised,  gentlemen,  we  apply  the 
name  of  good  to  four  three  classes  of  things  :  — 
First,  the  objects  of  the  different  instincts  of  our 
nature  —  such  as  food,  riches,  power,  glory,  esteem, 
friendship  —  each  of  which  we  call  good.  Good^  in 
this  first  acceptation,  signifies  whatever  is  fitted  to 
satisfy  some  desire ;  so  that  there  are  as  many  varieties 
of  good  as  there  are  desires.  Secondly,  the  greatest 
satisfaction  of  our  nature ;  which  is,  in  other  words, 
either  its  greatest  good  or  its  greatest  happiness,  ac- 
cording as  we  consider  its  satisfaction  in  itself,  01 
the  consequence  of  this,  which  is  pleasure.  Here, 
the  word  good  represents  no  longer  the  object  of  a 
desire  and  its  satisfaction,  but  the  greatest  satisfaction 
of  all  our  desires.  Different  persons  may  understand 
this  good  in  their  own  way,  but  each  has  the  idea 
of  such  a  good.  Thirdly,  good  in  itself.  By  good,  in 
this  last  acceptation,  we  m^an  not  that  which  is  good 
in  reference  to  ourselves,  but  that  which  is  good 

'  O 

independently  of  ourselves  and  of  every  human  being ; 
good  in  itself,  and  absolutely.  There  can  be  but 
one  such  good  as  this,  although  there  may  be  as 
many  kinds  of  good  of  the  second  class  as  there 
are  beings,  and  as  many  of  the  first  as  there  are 
desires  in  individuals.  Fourthly,  the  conformity  of  the 
voluntary  action  of  a  free  and  intelligent  being  to 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    279 

absolutejrood.  The  word  good,  in  this  last  accepta- 
tion, represents  that  quality  of  tEeTconduct  of  intelli- 
gent and  free  individuals,  which  makes  it  conformable 
to  absolute  good.  This  is  virtue,  morality,  moral 
good. 

Thus  you  see,  gentlemen,  that  the  word  good  is 
used  in  our  language  in  four  different  senses  —  and 
even  five,  if  we  make  a  distinction  between  the  satis- 
faction of  our  desires  and  the  accompanying  pleasure. 
We  might  even  say  six,  if  we  make  another  distinction 
between  the  true  objects  of  our  desires  and  the  means 
proper  to  procure  them,  that  is  to  say,  things  which 
are  useful.  But  we  will  pass  by  these  subdivisions, 
and  employ  the  word  in  these  four  acceptations  only. 
As  these  meanings  are  so  different,  you  may  well 
suppose  that  the  things  which  they  represent  have 
not  the  same  qualities,  nor  our  ideas  of  them  the 
same  origin.  Observe,  therefore,  the  difference  be- 
tween them  in  fact. 

1.  Our  instincts  alone  determine  what  is  good  and 
bad  for  us  according  to  the  first  acceptation.      Thus, 
if   food,  glory,  power,   are  good  for  us,  it  is  because 
our    nature   seeks   these   different   ends.      If  we  were 
otherwise  constituted,  these  would  not  be  good.     They 
are  a  relative  good,  therefore ;    and    because  relative, 
only  experience   can  make  them  known.      This  idea 
of  good  is  empirical. 

2.  Reason   learns  from   experience,  that   sometimes 
our  nature  is  satisfied,  and  sometimes  not ;  that  some- 
times   it    is    more   satisfied,    and    sometimes   less.      It 
learns  also  from   experience  to  know  what  constitutes 
our  greatest  satisfaction,  which  evidently  would  vary 


280  JOUFFROY. 

if  our  nature  were  changed.  The  idea  of  our  highest 
natural  good  is  therefore  empirical,  and  this  good, 
too,  is  relative. 

3.  Good    in    itself    is    not    relative,    because   it    is 
absolute.     And,    as   observation    cannot  attain  to  the 
absolute,  this  idea  of  good    in   itself   cannot  possibly 
be    derived    from    experience.      Whatever    object    it 
represents,   therefore,  this    idea    is    an   a  priori   con- 
ception of  reason. 

4.  Good  in  itself  being  once  conceived,  it  is  abso- 
lutely true  that  every  action  conformable  to  it  is  good. 
The    idea  of   moral    good    is   included,   then,   in  this 
absolute   conception.      It   is   derived,    therefore,  from 
reason,  and  is  absolute ;  and  the  good  which  it  repre- 
sents is  equally  so. 

You  will  remark,  gentlemen,  that,  of  these  four 
kinds  of  good,  three  are  definite,  of  which  we  have 
a  precise  idea.  These  are  instinctive  good,  personal 
good,  and  moral  good.  One  alone  is  not  so,  namely, 
absolute  good'pand  of  this  we  now  seek  a  definition. 
The  two  first  are  ends  of  action,  but  not,  as  we  have 
proved,  obligatory.  Desire  alone  impels  us  to  seek 
them.  The  third  is  also  an  end  of  action,  and  is 
the  only  one  which  is  or  can  be  obligatory.  The 
fourth  is  the  quality  which  determines  conduct  to 
the  pursuit  of  this  third  and  last-mentioned  end. 

Such  are  the  facts,  gentlemen  —  at  least  as  they 
appear  to  me.  Ethical  systems  become  false  by  mis- 
conceiving or  mutilating  these  facts.  The  system 
that  mutilates  them  the  most  is  the  selfish  system  ; 
for  it  entirely  overlooks  the  distinctions  now  pointed 
out,  and  combines  the  various  facts  just  described 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    281 

into  a  voluntary  and  determined  pursuit  of  personal 
good.  The  instinctive  system  is  less  at  variance  with 
the  truth.  It  recognizes  two  ends  and  two  motives  — 
the  end  and  motive  of  instinct,  and  the  end  and 
motive  of  self-love;  —  but,  in  all  else,  it  misconceives 
the  reality.  The  systern^_pJ^Ptic^^jej^lej^ 
much  nearer  to  the  truth.  It  recognizes  three  motives 
and  three  ends ;  but  it  gives  a  false  descriptionj)f_jhe 
third,  and  alters  its  nature  by  overlooking  the  dis- 
tinction  between  absolute  goocTand  moral  good.  It 
confounds  these  two  facts,  which,,  though  united,  are  ( 
distinct,  and  forms  of  them  a  single  fact,  that  retains 
the  qualities  of  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  exclu- 
sively, and  thus,  by  blending  it,  mutilates  both.  Here, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  radical  defect  of  the  system 
of  Price.  Let  me  now  describe,  in  a  manner  yet 
more  distinct,  the  essential  characteristics  of  his 
opinion  and  of  my  own,  and  the  precise  point  in 
which  they  differ.  We  shall  then  be  able  to  judge 
whether  I  make  a  distinction  where  none  is  to  be 
found,  or  whether  he  overlooks  one  that  actually 
exists. 

According  to  Price,  Cudworth,  and  Stewart,  the 
idea  of  good  is  only  an  idea  of  a  quality  in  actions 
recognized  by  intuitive  reason ;  so  that,  beyond 
actions,  there  is  nothing  that  is  good,  and,  if  there 
were  no  actions,  good  would  cease  to  be.  It  can 
only  exist  in  God  as  an  idea,  and  this  must  be  an 
idea  of  a  possible  quality  of  actions.  Such  is  the 
opinion  of  these  philosophers. 

In  my  opinion,  this  is  true  only  of  moral  good. 
I  grant  that  the  idea  of  moral  good  is  the  idea  of  a  ' 

yg 


'282  JOUFFROY. 

certain  quality  in  actions  —  a  quality  which  really 
exists  in  them,  and  which  my  reason  discovers.  If 
there  were  no  actions,  this  quality,  and  consequently 
moral  good,  would  have  no  existence.  The  idea 
alone  would  exist,  and  this  would  be  the  idea  of  a 
possible  quality  of  possible  actions.  But,  in  my 
opinion,  moral  good,  or  this  particular  quality,  is 

y|  not  an  intrinsic  attribute  of  certain  actions,  as  a 
round  form  is  of  certain  bodies.  It  is,  on  the  contrary, 

\j  a  relation  existing  between  actions  and  an  end,  abso- 
lutely  gSoU  in  Itsell7*to"  whicTTTnese  actions  may  or 
may  not  be  directed,  and  by  relation  to  which  they 
are  good  when  they  tend  towards  it,  and  bad  when 
they  do  not.  This  end  is  good  in  itself;  it  is  the 
only  absolute  good,  and  whatever  else  is  good  derives 
this  character  merely  from  being  related  to  it.  This 
end  is  the  reality  which  the  word  good  represents ; 
the  idea  of  it  is  perfectly  equivalent  to  the  idea  of 
good,  and,  in  fact,  these  two  ideas  are  identical.  This 
reality  exists  independently  of  actions,  for  it  is  the 
legitimate  end  of  every  free  action.  Without  it, 
actions  would  neither  be  good  nor  bad,  since  they 
are  good  and  bad  only  by  their  relation  to  this  end. 
So  far,  therefore,  is  it  from  being  true,  that  the  idea 
of  good  represents  only  a  quality  of  actions,  that 
goodness  in  actions  should  be  rather  said  to  be  only 
derived  —  a  goodness  consisting  in  their  conformity 
to  that  which  is  really  represented  by  the  idea  of  good, 
or,  in  other  words,  to  that  which  alone  is  good  in  itself, 
and  truly  good.  A  distinction,  therefore,  must  be 
made  between  absolute  good  and  moral  good.  Abso- 
lute good  is  an  end  of  action,  as  the  satisfaction  of  our 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    283 

nature  is,  or  as  the  different  objects  sought  by  instinct 
are ;  but  it  is  distinguished  from  every  other  end  by 
this,  that  it  is  good,  and  consequently  something  to 
which  we  ought  to  aspire  ;  while  moral  good  or  virtue 
is  the  quality  which  characterizes  conduct  and  actions 
when  they  seek  this  end. 

Cudworth,  Price,  and  Stewart  confound  these  two 
kinds  of  good.  They  see  in  good  only  a  quality  of 
actions,  which  is  at  once  the  source  of  their  character 
of  goodness,  and  the  end  to  which  they  ought  to  be 
directed.  Thus  have  I  presented  to  your  view  the 
opinion  of  these  philosophers  and  my  own.  You 
can  readily  detect  the  difference  between  them. 

But  I  shall  fail  in  giving  you  a  perfect  comprehen- 
sion of  this  difference,  unless  I  make  you  perceive 
that,  according  as  we  adopt  one  or  the  other  of  these 
opinions  as  to  the  nature  of  good,  shall  we  be  led, 
on  the  one  hand,  to  different  views  of  the  manner 
in  which  it  is  conceived  in  itself  and  in  actions  ;  and, 
on  the  other,  to  different  conclusions  as  to  the  possi- 
bility of  defining  it.  Permit  me  to  enter  a  little  more 
into  detail  upon  these  two  points. 

In  what  way,  according  to  my  view,  is  good  per-  \ 
ceived  1  The  process  is  as  follows:  As  good  and  evil, 
in  conduct  and  actions,  depend  upon  their  degree 
of  conformity  to  absolute  good,  it  is  evident,  that,  in 
my  opinion,  they  have  no  such  character,  unless  the 
idea  of  this  absolute  good  is  conceived.  It  is  on  the 
occasion  of  actions,  to  be  sure,  that  this  idea  of  good 
is  conceived,  and  the  conception  may  be  more  or 
less  clear  in  my  mind ;  but,  clear  or  obscure,  this 
idea  must  still  precede  any  judgment  as  to  particular 


284  JOUFFROY. 

actions.  Thus,  in  my  system,  moral  conceptions  must 
necessarily  originate  in  the  idea  of  good  in  itself.  If 
I  have  not  this  idea,  I  may,  indeed,  judge  actions  by 
the  maxims  of  common  sense,  or  by  rules  received 
from  education ;  but  I  cannot  truly  judge  them  for 
myself.  When  once  the  idea  of  good,  however,  is 
conceived,  I  can  at  once  estimate  them  by  a  compar- 
ison with  absolute  good.  Everx^judgment  of  Actions, 
therefore,  is  aperception  of  ^relation !  wbirfc  is  more 
of" less  visible,  and,  consequently,  more  or  less  easily 
determined.  There  is  but  one  immediate  conception, 
therefore,  namely,  that  of  absolute  good  ;  while  every 
conception  of  moral  good  or  evil,  that  is  to  say,  every 
estimate  of  actions,  is  mediate ;  the  conception  of 
good  in  itself  being  the  principle,  and  that  of  good 
in  actions  the  consequence.  Such,  according  to  my 
view,  is  the  necessary  process  in  our  minds. 

Here  Price  differs  from  me.  He  thinks  that  when 
actions  are  perceived,  we  recognize  at  once  their 
ygood  or  their  evil.  When  I  see  a  man  stealing  or 
giving  alms  to  the  poor,  he  argues,  reason  at  once 
perceives  that  one  of  these  actions  is  bad,  and  the 
other  good.  It  discovers  these  qualities  in  them  di- 
rectly. Afterward  we  draw  from  this  experience  the 
general  maxims,  that  to  steal  is  bad,  and  to  assist 
the  needy  is  good  ;  and  later  still,  is  disengaged  from 
these  general  maxims  the  idea  of  good,  either  because 
we  abstract  it  from  the  quality  which  it  represents, 
as  Price  seems  to  think,  or  because  the  idea  of  this 
quality  has  a  prior  existence  in  our  minds,  as  Cud- 
worth  supposes.  Thus  we  begin  by  perceiving  in 
actions  the  qualities  of  moral  good  and  evil ;  next, 


THE    RATIONAL    SYST*EM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    235 

we  deduce  from  these  particular  judgments  general 
maxims,  as  tests  for  actions  ;  and  finally,  we  separate 
from  these  the  idea  of  good.  Such,  in  Price's  view, 
is  the  way  in  which  good  is  perceived.  According 
to  him,  the  estimate  of  particular  acts  is  immediate, 
and  the  idea  of  good  mediate.  We  are  supposed,  in 
this  system,  to  begin,  where,  in  my  apprehension,  we 
end.  And  this  is  the  necessary  consequence  of  our 
different  views  of  the  nature  of  good. 

Another  consequence  —  I  will  not  say  a  necessary, 
but  still  a  natural  one — of  this  diversity  is,  the  dif- 
ferent opinion  of  Price  and  of  myself,  as  to  whether 
good  is  definable.  You  have  seen,  gentlemen,  how 
the  idea  of  Price,  that  good  is  something  simple  and 

'  o  3  r 

irreducible,  corresponds  with  his  idea  that  good  is 
only  a  quality  of  actions;  and  that,  in  my  criticism 
upon  this,  system,  and  upon  all  rational  systems  of 
the  same  class,  I  have  been  unable  to  separate  their 
opinions  upon  these  two  points. 

If  my  views  of  good  in  itself,  of  moral  good,  and 
of  the  manner  in  which  the  last  is  deduced  from  the 
first,  are  correct,  is  it  not  evident  that  I  cannot  avoid 
giving  a  definition  of  good  ?  If  I  neither  conceive 
of  what  it  is,  nor  in  what  consists  this  external  end 
which  is  absolutely  good,  which  is  the  good,  how  can 
I  determine  whether  actions  do  or  do  not  tend  toward 
it,  and,  consequently,  whether  they  are,  or  are  not, 
morally  good  1  Evidently,  this  would  be  impossible ; 
and  the  first  condition  of  every  precise  moral  judg- 
ment must,  therefore,  be  a  definition  of  good  in  itself. 
My  system  does  not,  then,  admit  that  good  is  inde-  \ 
finable ;  and  all  moralists,  who  have  adopted  this  sys- 


286  JOUFFROY. 

tern,  have  attempted  to  give  a  definition  of  absolute 
good,  arid  to  determine  this  idea.  And,  as  we  shall 
hereafter  see,  these  systems  are  distinguished  from 
each  other  by  the  different  definitions  which  they  have 
given.  But  in  Price's  opinion,  there  is  no  necessity 
for  such  a  definition.  For  as  good,  according  to  him, 
is  a  quality  of  actions,  and  a  quality  immediately  per- 
ceived, it  is  no  more  necessary  to  define  good,  in 
order  to  judge  whether  actions  are  good,  than  it  is 
necessary  to  define  the  nature  of  whiteness  to  deter- 
mine whether  objects  are  white.  According  to  this 
form  of  the  rational  system,  therefore,  we  are  not 
compelled  to  give  a  definition  of  good.  It  is  true,  that, 
if  this  quality  is  really  inherent  in  actions,  the  fact 
that  it  could  be  defined,  and  was  defined,  would  not 
affect  the  system ;  but  suppose  that  the  system  is 
false ;  suppose  that  good  in  actions  is  only  their 
conformity  to  something  exterior,  even  good  in  itself; 
then  can  we  readily  understand  why  philosophers,  who 
have  professed  this  form  of  the  rational  system,  have 
preferred  to  say  that  good  is  simple  and  indjfinable. 
Their  only  alternative  was,  either  to  dejn^jmptaj 
goodness^  jj,  conformity  of  acts  to  absolute  good,  or 
to  say  that  it  is  impossible  to  form  an  idea  of  it. 
And  as  this  only  possible  definition  was  opposed  to 
their  whole  system,  they  were  forced  to  exclude  it, 
and  had  but  one  course  to  take,  which  was,  to  suppose 
and  declare  that  moral  goodness  is  a  simple  and  inde- 
finable quality. 

You  see,  then,  that,  the  difference  between  rny  opin- 
ion and  that  of  Price,  that  is  to  say,  the  difference 
between  the  rational  systems,  which  define  good,  and 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    287 

those  which  do  not,  embraces  three  points  —  the  na- 
ture of  good,  the  perception  of  good,  and  the  defi- 
nition of  good ;  and  you  see  also  how  closely  these 
three  points  are  united,  and,  therefore,  how  necessarily 
a  difference  upon  either  one  leads  to  a  difference  upon 
the  two  others.  My  criticism,  therefore,  must  extend 
to  Price's  opinions  upon  these  tHree  points ;  otherwise  £ 
it  will  not  be  complete. 

I  will  attempt  two  things;  first,  to  explain,  on  the  f 
supposition  that  my  view  is  correct,  how  distinguished 
philosophers  have  been  led  to  adopt  the  opinion  rep- 
resented by  the  system  of  Price ;  and  secondly,  to 
show  in  what  particulars  this  opinion  is  irreconcilable 
with  facts.  I  will  begin  with  the  first-mentioned 
point. 

And  first,  it  is  easy  to  explain,  historically,  how 
Price  and  the  Scottish  philosophers  were  led  to  adopt 
this  opinion.  For  this  end,  it  will  be  sufficient  to 
describe  the  opinions  and  prejudices  under  the  influ- 
ence of  which  they  wrote,  and  the  task,  which,  as 
philosophers,  they  undertook.  This  task  was  imposed 
upon  thinkers  by  Locke's  theory  of  the  origin  of  our 
ideas.  As  there  are  in  the  human  mind  many  funda- 
mental ideas,  which  represent  neither  what  is  observed 
by  the  senses  or  by  consciousness,  nor  any  existing 
relation  perceived  by  these  two  faculties,  all  ideas  and 
all  truths  connected  with  them  were  found  to  be 
involved  in  doubt  by  his  theory.  It  stirred  deeply, 
therefore,  all  reflecting  minds ;  and  it  was  to  determine 
these  ideas,  that,  during  a  whole  century,  English 
philosophy,  and  the  philosophy  of  a  part  of  the  con- 
tinent, directed  their  efforts.  Philosophers  had  this 


288  JOUFFROY. 

alternative,  either  to  explain  the  existence  of  these 
ideas  according  to  the  theory  of  Locke,  or  to  deny 
this  theory,  and  to  prove  that  it  did  not  recognize  all 
the  sources  of  human  knowledge.  Of  these  two  modes 
of  refutation,  it  was  natural  that  the  former  should 
be  first  attempted,  and  the  latter  afterwards  tried ;  and 
this  was  what  actually  happened.  Hence,  if  I  may 
say  so,  the  philosophers  who  have  undertaken  this  task 
are  divided  into  two  classes  —  Hutcheson,  belonging 
to  the  first,  Price  and  the  Scottish  philosophers,  to  the 
second.  How  did  Hutcheson  proceed  in  this  work  ? 
As  I  have  already  told  you,  he  did  not  deny  the 
theory  of  Locke,  but  merely  attempted  to  show  that 
we  have  other  senses  besides  those  usually  recognized, 
and  among  these,  one  which  perceives  the  qualities 
of  moral  good  and  evil  in  actions.  Thus,  admitting 
that  good  and  evil  are  perceived  by  a  sense,  Hutcheson 
was  bound  also  to  admit  that  they  are  qualities,  and 
simple  qualities;  for  this  was  demanded  by  the  theory 
of  Locke.  It  was  agreed,  therefore,  that  good  and 
evil  are  simple  qualities  of  actions.  Hutcheson  be- 
lieved, that,  by  this  theory,  he  had  preserved  these 
ideas ;  and  one  point  he  had,  indeed,  secured.  The 
only  good,  of  which  the  idea  was  compatible  with 
the  theory  of  Locke,  was  pleasure,  or  personal  good. 
Hence  the  system  of  selfishness.  Hutcheson,  by  the 
discovery  of  the  moral  sense,  succeeded,  as  he  thought, 
in  showing  that  there  was  another  good  beside  per- 
sonal good —  a  good  desired  for  itself,  and  not  as  an 
element  of  our  own  good.  He  thus  believed  that  he 
had  done  all  that  was  necessary.  But  this  was  by  no 
means  enough ;  and  Hutcheson,  compelled,  by  the 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    2S9 

impossibility  of  defining  the  essential  nature  of  good, 
to  assimilate  it  more  to  the  secondary  than  to  the  pri- 
mary qualities  of  matter,  did  not  perceive  that  his 
theory  made  good  relative  to  ourselves,  and  liable  to 
change  if  we  should  change.  Human  consciousness 
demanded  something  more  ;  and  it  was  to  this  second 
appeal  that  Price  replied.  His  object,  as  I  have  al- 
ready shown,  was,  to  establish  the  objectivity,  and, 
consequently,  the  immutability,  of  good  and  evil.  And 
thus  was  he  led  to  see  that  the  theory  of  Locke  is 
false,  and  that  reason  is  the  source  of  primary  ideas, 
But,  as  it  often  happens,  his  first  and  principal  thought 
being  realized,  every  thing  else  seemed  of  secondary 
importance ;  and  it  was  the  same  with  the  Scottish 
philosophers,  who  were  his  fellow-laborers,  and  who 
sought  the  same  end.  Thus  he  accepted  the  idea  so 
long  prevalent,  that  good  and  evil  are  the  qualities  of 
actions,  and  simple  and  indefinable  qualities.  So  deeply 
was  the  prejudice,  that  all  the  fundamental  ideas  of 
the  human  mind  are  single,  rooted  by  the  influence 
of  Locke's  theory,  that  even  his  opponents  were 
insensibly  influenced  by  it;  and  Price  was  unwilling 
to  admit  that  the  ideas  of  good  and  evil  belonged  to 
an  inferior  class,  and  made  light  of  their  being  ideas 
of  relation.  Such  were  the  circumstances  by  which 
Price  was  led  to  adopt  the  opinion  that  I  now  oppose. 
You  see,  then,  in  relation  to  him  at  least,  its  historical 
origin. 

But  this  opinion  actually  arises  from  causes  of  a 
much  more  general  kind,  and  which,  independently 
of  any  historical  circumstances,  might  naturally  lead 

VOL.    II.  Z 


290  JOUFFIIOY. 

philosophers  to   adopt    it.     These  1    will    rapidly    de- 
scribe. 

If  the  discoveries  of  reflection  belonged  to  those 
alone  who  reflected,  science,  instead  of  being  a  source 
of  happiness  and  perfection  to  the  human  race,  would 
benefit  only  the  few  who  cultivated  it,  and  thus  would 
become,  by  successive  augmentations,  a  possession 
which  the  many  could  never  enjoy.  But  this  is  not 
the  case.  In  proportion  as  science  advances,  truths 
which  are  brought  to  light,  having  undergone  long 
examinations,  pass  into  less  enlightened  minds,  and 
finally  become  a  common  property,  shared  by  all  —  by 
shepherds  as  well  as  kings,  and  by  the  ignorant  as 
well  as  the  learned.  Yet  more  ;  by  a  wise  law  of  Prov- 
idence, in  thus  becoming  a  universal  patrimony,  they 
lose  their  scientific  character,  and  being  gradually 
detached  from  the  arguments  by  which  they  were  at 
first  supported,  are  at  last  established  in  the  common 
faith  as  axioms.  It  is  under  this  simple  form  that 
they  are  transmitted  from  fathers  to  children,  so  that 
the  heritage  of  truth  may  be  indefinitely  increased, 
without  ever  becoming  too  heavy  a  burden  for  the 
common  mind.  Thus,  gentlemen,  from  age  to  age 
is  augmented  that  science  enjoyed  by  all,  which  we 
call  common  sense,  and  which  does  not  wear  a  scien- 
tific aspect,  only  because  we  receive  it  in  our  nurses' 
arms,  and  breathe  it  in  from  the  spirit  of  our  times. 
If  we  should  analyze  the  truths  which,  in  any  nation 
or  time,  the  common  sense  possesses,  we  should  find 
that  they  are  composed  of  two  elements ;  first,  of 
a  few  innnte  articles  of  faith,  which  are  in  some 
\ 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    291 

sort  the  intellectual  capital,  received  at  birth  as  a 
gift  from  God  to  all  men  ;  and  secondly,  of  numberless 
truths,  which,  successively  acquired  by  reflection 
through  preceding  generations,  have  gradually  become 
a  part  of  this  common  stock.  We  must  remark  yet 
further,  that  these  latter  ideas,  although  at  first  admit- 
ted only  upon  good  proofs,  become  in  time  confounded 
with  the  former,  and  appear,  like  them,  to  be  self- 
evident  axioms,  for  which  there  neither  is  nor  can 
be  any  proof,  and  which  it  would  be  foolish  to  deny, 
since  the  day  is  long  since  forgotten,  when  they  were 
first  announced,  discussed,  and  recognized.  Thus, 
gentlemen,  are  the  ideas  of  common  sense  multiplied  ; 
and  such  are  the  laws  by  which  the  world  is  advanced 
and  improved,  and  every  body  in  society  more  or  less 
enlightened.  Thus,  finally,  are  explained  the  differ- 
ences between  different  communities  ;  and  thus  is  the 
fact  accounted  for,  that  the  common  sense  of  some 
nations  is  richer  in  ideas  than  that  of  others. 

If  this  is  the  case  with  all  kinds  of  truths,  must  it 
not  be  equally  so  with  moral  truths,  on  the  supposition 
already  made,  and  which,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say, 
is  agreeable  to  facts  —  that  the  estimate  of  actions 
arises  from  a  recognition  of  their  relation  to  a  certain 
end,  which  is  good,  and  which  is  immediately  con- 
ceived ?  What  other  class  of  truths  is  it  so  important 
for  a  man  to  determine?  To  what  other  class  would 
reflection  be  directed  at  an  earlier  period,  or  with 
more  constant  attention?  In  regard  to  what  other 
truths,  consequently,  should  we  expect  discoveries  to 
be  so  ancient  and  so  numerous,  especially  when  we 
add  the  consideration  that,  on  account  of  their  import 


292  JOUFFROY. 

ance,  Providence  has  rendered  them  easy  of  apprehen- 
sion ?  What  other  class  of  truths,  in  fine,  can  furnish 
to  the  common  sense  more  maxims  and  axioms  ?  If 
my  hypQth^gis  i^  well  founded,  gentlemen,  the  history 
of  the  pro^ressof  moral  ideas  is^asjfolk>4y&^  As  civ- 
ilization advances,  the  human  mind  successively  dis- 
covers that  certain  actions  are  conformable  to  absolute 
good.  In  proportion  as  these  discoveries  are  made, 
maxims  are  adopted  by  common  sense,  which  declare 
certain  actions  to  be  good  or  bad.  Gradually,  the 
reasons  on  which  they  rest  are  forgotten,  and  these 
maxims  assume  the  appearance  of  axioms,  which 
express  immediate,  primary,  and  self-evident  truths. 
A  proof,  that  there  is  such  a  progress  of  ideas,  is  the 
fact  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  trace  far  back  the 
history  of  our  civilization,  to  find  an  era  when  the 
judgments  of  men  were  unsettled  in  regard  to  actions, 
whose  moral  character  is,  in  our  day,  perfectly  deter- 
mined; and  yet  another  proof  may  be  found  in  the 
fact,  that,  when  we  compare  together  any  two  succes- 
sive eras  in  the  history  of  civilization,  we  always  find 
greater  or  less  difference  between  the  popular  ideas 
of  morality  adopted  in  them.  Now,  what  inference 
is  to  be  drawn  from  the  phenomenon  now  described  ? 
We  may  infer  that,  in  an  advanced  stage  of  civilization, 
—  in  such  an  age  as  our  own,  for  example,  —  the  moral 
character  of  most  actions  will  be  perfectly  determined, 
and  that  judgment  will  be  pronounced  upon  them 
directly,  and  without  any  previous  comparison  with 
absolute  good.  And  hence  —  to  make  a  remark  in 
passing  —  arises  the  facility  with  which  the  moral  taste 
of  a  people  may  be  for  a  time  perverted  upon  a  given 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    293 

point;  and  hence,  too,  the  shock  which  all  moral 
truths  receive,  in  eras  when  truths  of  another  kind, 
which,  equally  with  them,  have  become  ideas  of  com- 
mon sense,  are  disputed.  And  now,  to  illustrate  this 
reasoning,  I  will  ask,  Whoever  denies  that  to  steal 
is  bad  ?  or  inquires  why  it  is  so?  It  seems  to  us 
all,  as  if  the  moral  evil  of  dishonesty  is  perceived 
naturally  and  immediately,  and  as  if  this  evil  resided 
in  the  action  itself.  Now,  as  the  same  facts  produce 
the  same  effects  in  a  multitude  of  instances,  this 
illusion  assumes,  at  last,  the  appearance  and  authority 
of  truth ;  and  it  is  increased  yet  more  by  the  facts 
that  the  philosopher  finds  his  own  moral  judgments 
produced  in  the  same  process  which  he  observes  in 
others.  In  fact,  we  begin  to  philosophize  at  a  period 
of  life  when  the  judgments  of  common  sense  have 
penetrated  our  minds,  and  are  established  there.  Our 
heads  are  filled  with  notions  already  established  as  to 
the  character  of  different  actions,  and  our  judgments 
upon  them  are  often  immediate.  What  is  more  nat- 
ural, therefore,  than  that  we  should  mistake  this  pro- 
cess, which  we  see  going  on  all  around  us,  and  of 
which  we  are  conscious  ourselves,  for  the  true,  natural, 
and  primitive  mode  of  moral  appreciation  ?  And  this 
mistake  is  actually  made,  —  we  either  forget  the  excep- 
tions,—  that  is  to  say,  the  difficult  cases  in  which  we 
are  obliged  to  return  to  the  true  mode  of  moral  judg- 
ment,—  or  else  we  explain  them  away  ;  and  we  overlook 
the  consideration,  that,  by  the  same  reasoning,  we 
should  be  obliged  to  regard  also  as  immediate  a  mul- 
titude of  truths,  which  were  certainly  once  acquired, 
although  they  have  now  become  axioms.  This  illusion 

z2 


294  JOUFFROY. 

masters  us,  arid  we  adopt  the  opinion  which  Price  has 
expressed  in  his  system.  Such  is  the  first,  and  a  very 
powerful  cause  of  the  theory  that  the  idea  of  good 
is  simple. 

A  second  cause,  gentlemen,  also  resulting  from  a 
law  of  the  human  mind,  is  the  form  in  which  moral 
truths  are  necessarily  expressed  in  the  precepts  of 
education  and  in  the  laws.  Our  parents  and  teachers 
do  not  say,  This  is  good  and  that  is  bad,  for  such 
and  such  reasons.  They  say  simply,  This  is  good, 
that  is  bad  ;  and  the  chief  reason  why  they  do  so  is, 
that  it  would  be  difficult  for  them  to  give  the  proof, 
which  they  omit,  having  never  themselves  received 
it,  nor  reflected  upon  it.  But  a  second  reason  is,  the 
manner  in  which  all  laws  and  moral  precepts  must 
be  expressed  to  exert  their  proper  influence,  that  is  to 
say,  to  be  immediately  and  clearly  comprehended.  If 
laws  and  precepts  should  proceed  by  demonstration, 
they  would  say,  This  is  absolute  good  ;  such  actions, 
under  such  circumstances,  are  conformable  to  this 
good ;  you  ought,  therefore,  to  perform  them.  But 
this  would  evidently  make  the  law  too  long,  and  the 
precept  embarrassing.  It  is  much  more  simple  to  say, 
You  must  do  this,  and  you  must  not  do  that ;  or, 
This  is  good,  that  is  bad ;  without  explaining  why,  01 
without  referring,  for  a  sanction  of  the  law,  eithei 
to  the  authority  of  common  sense,  on  which  it  rests, 
or  to  the  obscure  view  of  absolute  good  which  exists 
in  every  human  mind,  and  secretly  confirms  the  force 
of  whatever  is  true  in  morals,  while  it  as  secretly 
impairs  the  force  of  what  is  false.  Thus,  gentlemen, 
the  natural,  and,  in  some  sort,  the  necessary  form  in 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    295 

which  all  laws  and  precepts  are  expressed,  seems  to 
place  good  and  evil  immediately  in  actions,  and  to 
declare  that  they  are  only  qualities,  and  that  only 
from  a  perception  of  actions  do  \ve  receive  these 
ideas.  Such  is  the  second  cause  of  illusion  which 
conspires  to  make  us  adopt  the  opinion  entertained 
by  these  philosophers. 

Still  more  powerful  causes  may  be  found  in  the 
manner  in  which  the  conception  of  absolute  good 
is  naturally  formed,  and  in  which  actions  are  morally 
appreciated. 

And,  first,  gentlemen,  although  no  two  things  are 
more  distinct  than  absolute  good  and  moral  good,  — 
one  being  an  end  independent  of  actions,  and  the 
other  a  quality  of  the  acts  which  are  conformed  to 
this  end,  —  it  must  still  be  said,  that,  in  many  cases, 
the  appreciation  of  this  quality  is  most  readily  made; 
so  that  the  conception  and  judgment  are  closely  united, 
and  included  even  in  one  and  the  same  act  of  the 
mind.  Thus  has  Providence  preserved  from  mis- 
apprehension the  acts  which  form,  from  their  frequent 
recurrence,  the  substance  of  conduct ;  and,  although 
every  precaution  has  been  taken  in  our  natural  con- 
stitution to  guard  instinct  and  self-love  from  errors 
as  to  these  actions,  still  the  guaranty  of  the  moral 
judgment  could  not  be  omitted,  when  so  important 
a  result  was  at  stake.  Thus  we  find  that  the  moral 
character  of  these  acts  is  entirely  fixed  among  all 
people,  with  but  few  slight  differences  of  opinion  ;  and 
not  an  era  could  be  found  in  which  their  worth  was 
completely  undetermined.  This  fact  has  deceived 
philosophers  in  a  twofold  manner.  In  the  first  place, 


296  JOUFFROY. 

as  these  facts  occur  most  readily  to  the  mind  in  the 
study  of  ethics,  they  are  naturally  selected  by  prefer- 
ence for  illustration ;  and,  as  they  have  been  appre- 
ciated in  the  same  way  among  all  people,  from  time 
immemorial,  they  seem  to  offer  a  proof  that  moral 
appreciation  is  immediate.  In  the  second  place,  as 
the  phenomenon  of  moral  appreciation  has  been 
studied  in  these  very  acts,  in  which  it  is  most  readily 
made,  philosophers  have  met  with  only  what  appeared 
to  favor  the  view  of  its  being  immediate,  and  thus 
have  been  confirmed  in  their  opinion. 

But,  again,  gentlemen,  actions  are  the  occasions 
on  which  we  rise  to  the  idea  of  absolute  good,  as 
events  are  the  occasions  when  we  conceive  of  time 
and  cause.  This  is  the  general  law  of  intuitive 
reason  already  described.  Although  capable  of  con- 
ceiving certain  ideas  immediately,  some  circumstance 
must  always  be  the  occasion  of  their  being  formed  ; 
and  this  circumstance  must  always  be  a  fact  which, 
to  be  comprehended  or  appreciated,  implies  the  very 
d  priori  idea  that  reason  conceives  on  the  occasion 
of  this  event.  In  looking  upon  facts  which  succeed 
each  other,  or  in  touching  the  different  parts  of  a 
body,  we  cannot  comprehend  the  fact  of  succession 
without  the  idea  of  time ;  nor  that  of  parts  united 
together,  without  the  idea  of  space.  Therefore  is  it 
necessary  that  reason  should  interpose,  and,  by  intro- 
ducing these  ideas  of  time  and  space,  render  possible 
the  ideas  of  succession  and  of  extension.  It  is  the 
same  with  the  idea  of  good  in  relation  to  the  morality 
of  actions.  Without  this  idea,  the  moral  quality  of 
actions  could  not  be  conceived.  Thus  it  is  on  the 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    297 

occasion  of~actions,  when  we  feel  ourselves  called 
to  pass  judgment,  that  reason  ascends  to  the  idea 
of  good,  by  which  these  judgments  become  possible. 
In  this  case,  as  in  all  analogous  ones,  we  are  more 
struck  by  the  particular  judgment  passed  than  by  the 
idea  then  introduced  into  our  minds,  which  enables 
us  to  pass  it.  Frequently,  we  even  do  not  notice 
this  idea  at  all.  Thus,  when  facts  are  seen  to  succeed 
each  other,  we  judge  that  they  are  successive  by  means 
of  the  idea  of  time,  which  then  enters  our  minds. 
What  strikes  us  is,  the  judgment  that  they  are  suc- 
cessive ;  but  the  idea  of  time,  and  the  part  which 
it  performs  in  this  act  of  judgment,  escape  us  ;  and 
this  is  the  reason  why  many  philosophers  have  pre- 
tended that  the  idea  of  time  has  its  origin  in  the 
fact  of  succession,  and  is  but  an  abstraction  of  this 
fact  —  not  remarking  what  a  paralogism  it  is  to  derive 
an  idea  from  a  fact,  in  the  very  notion  of  which  it 
is  presupposed.  Thus,  for  the  same  reasons,  it  has 
been  said  of  the  idea  of  space,  that  it  is  derived,  by 
abstraction,  from  that  of  extended  bodies ;  as  if, 
without  the  idea  of  space,  we  could  have  conceived 
of  extension  !  It  is  quite  natural  that  philosophers 
should  have  fallen  into  the  same  paralogism  in  relation 
to  the  idea  of  good.  As  we  conceive  this  idea  on 
the  occasion  of  beholding  actions,  and  in  order  to 
form  a  judgment  of  actions,  the  act  of  judging  has 
been  remarked,  while  only  a  slight  attention  has  been 
paid  to  the  psychological  phenomenon  of  the  judgment 
itself,  and  of  the  idea  which  it  presupposes.  Hence 
the  opinion  that  the  idea  of  good  is  a  quality  of  actions, 
and  that  it  is  deduced,  by  abstraction,  from  successive 


298  JOUFFROY. 

estimates  of  actions  —  an  opinion  akin  tolhose  already 
described,  as  to  the  origin  of  the  ideas  of  time  and  space. 
And  do  not  think,  gentlemen,  because  the  appre- 
ciation of  an  action  by  this  idea  can  only  result 
from  a  relation  conceived  between  the  end,  which 
is  good,  and  the  tendency  of  the  action,  that  it  follows 
that  the  analogy  indicated  is  not  exact,  and  that  this 
inattention  to  the  idea  of  good,  the  principle  of  the 
judgment,  and  to  the  comparison  produced  by  it,  is 
impossible.  Without  doubt,  whenever  an  accurate 
mind  wishes  to  attain  a  clear  idea  of  the  quality  of  an 
action,  and  to  find  a  precise  reason  for  its  judgment, 
the  idea,  and  the  comparison  between  the  action  and 
this  idea,  must  be  both  present  to  consciousness.  But 
this  is  not  what  commonly  takes  place,  even  among 
sensible  minds,  who  seek  correctness  in  their  moral 
judgments,  and  are  unwilling  to  be  governed  by  the 
influences  of  education  and  of  common  sense.  And 
this  arises  from  another  quality  of  the  intuitive  idea, 
and  of  the  judgments  derived  from  it,  which  I  have 
already  had  occasion  often  to  notice.  It  is  the  pecu- 
liarity of  these  ideas,  which  we  find  already  in  our 
minds  when  we  begin  to  reflect,  and  for  whose  ap- 
pearance we  cannot  assign  a  date,  that,  while  confused 
in  our  apprehension,  they  nevertheless  give  rise  to 
judgments  which  are  positive,  though  also  confused. 
I  will  not  now  reconsider  the  causes  of  this  fact, 
which  seems  to  imply  a  contradiction,  for  I  have 
already  described  them.  But  the  fact  itself  is  unde- 
niable. For  example,  it  is  certain  that,  although 
we  have,  in  general,  only  a  confused  idea  of  the  reality 
represented  by  the  word  good,  and  although  we  should, 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    299 

for  the  most  part,  feel  embarrassed  in  attempting  to 
describe  its  true  nature,  we  nevertheless,  in  most 
instances,  say  with  assurance  —  and  not  merely  in 
the  name  of  the  maxims  of  common  sense,  and  of 
long-established  opinion,  but  with  the  consciousness 
of  truth  —  that  an  action  is  or  is  not  conformable 
to  good  —  is  or  is  not  morally  good.  There  is  no 
one  who  has  not  often  experienced  this  in  his  deep 
deliberations  upon  the  conduct  proper  to  be  ob- 
served in  the  important  events  of  life.  Every  one 
manifests  his  consciousness,  at  such  times,  by  the 
care  which  he  takes  to  guard  his  mind  from  the 
influence  of  feeling,  interest,  and  prejudice,  that  it  is 
not  by  the  light  of  these  motives  that  he  can  truly 
judge  of  actions.  Every  one  is  conscious  that  there 
exists  in  the  recesses  of  his  mind  a  dim  idea,  and, 
in  the  nature  of  things,  a  high  and  impersonal  end, 
the  type  of  absolute  good,  by  their  relations  to  which, 
it  can  alone  be  determined  whether  acts  should  or 
should  not  be  done.  Every  one  has  felt,  even  in 
cases  where  this  end  did  not  clearly  appear,  that  there 
would  come  a  time  when  the  conformity  or  noncon- 
formity of  actions  to  it  would  be  seen  as  an  unques- 
tionable absolute  certainty,  and  be  followed  by  an 
unhesitating  resolve,  at  once  clear  and  strong.  This 
phenomenon,  which  is  accompanied  by  painful  efforts 
in  complex  cases,  occurs  easily  in  simple  ones;  and, 
if  the  reasons  by  which  our  judgment  is  determined 
are  obscure  in  the  former,  they  are  hardly  remarked 
at  all  in  the  latter  ;  so  that,  although  our  moral 
estimates  emanate  from  a  presupposed  idea,  and  are 
the  result  of  a  comparison  of  actions  with  that  idea, 


300  JOUFFROY. 

it  is  still  true  that  the  idea  and  comparison  may  remain 
obscure,  even  when  the  judgment  is  distinct  and 
strong.  There  is  no  contradiction,  then,  in  supposing, 
that  it  is  the  same  in  relation  to  moral  judgments  as 
to  all  others,  which  imply  a  conception  of  intuitive 
reason ;  and  that,  in  these  judgments,  it  is  the  particu- 
lar result  that  strikes  our  attention,  while  the  universal 
idea  which  produces  it  is  hidden  or  overlooked.  We 
have  already  described  this  fact  as  one  cause  of  the 
opinion  that  the  goodness  of  actions  is  apprehended 
by  a  sense  ;  and,  for  similar  reasons,  it  has  led  some 
rational  philosophers  to  accord  with  the  view  of 
Price. 

And,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  —  to  which  I  may, 
in  passing,  call  your  attention  —  that  the  objectivity 
of  good  is  preserved  by  the  one,  and  deitroyed  by 
the  other,  it  would  be  difficult  to  perceive  any  true 
difference  between  these  two  systems ;  in  all  other 
respects  they  are  perfectly  identical.  Both  consider 
good  a  quality  of  actions.  Both  consider  this  quality 
simple  and  indefinable.  Both  say  that  it  is  imme- 
diately perceived  or  revealed.  Both,  consequently, 
confound  absolute  good  and  moral  good.  And  both 
make  the  idea  of  particular  good  acts  precede  the 
idea  of  good  in  itself.  Both  obtain  this  latter  idea, 
therefore,  by  abstraction  and  generalization.  And 
both  make  the  use  of  reasoning,  in  determining  moral 
qualities,  impossible.  We  need  not  be  surprised,  then, 
that  Stewart  considers  his  opinion  so  nearly  assimi- 
lated to  that  of  Hutcheson,  and  that  he  makes  so 
little  account  of  the  differences  which  distinguish 
them,  and  of  the  question  as  to  the  origin  of  the 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    301 

idea  of  good.  This  conduct  of  Stewart  is  easily 
explained ;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  danger  which 
the  immutability  of  moral  distinctions  was  seen  to 
incur  from  the  system  of  Hutchesori,  just  then  pro- 
mulgated, it  may  readily  be  believed  that  Price  would 
have  preceded  Stewart  in  this  strong  expression  of 
sympathy  for  the  instinctive  system. 

I  will  only  point  out  one  further  cause,  which  has 
given  rise  to  the  opinion  of  Price  ;  it  is  suggested 
by  the  remarks  already  made  in  the  description  of 
the  part  performed  by  instinct  in  the  moral  life. 

We  should  never  overlook,  in  our  attempts  to  ex- 
plain the  erroneous  systems  of  moral  philosophers, 
the  complexity  of  human  nature,  and  the  multiplicity 
of  the  motives  which  conspire  to  impel  us  to  good, 
and  to  deter  us  from  evil.  And,  although  this  frequent 
review  of  the  same  facts  may  be  tedious,  you  must  per- 
mit me  to  make  it,  from  considering  that  this  series  of 
systems  is  a  gallery  of  portraits  of  a  single  original,  of 
whose  fidelity  we  can  judge  only  by  a  comparison  with 
this  original.  I  repeat,  therefore,  that,  long  before  we 
begin  to  form  moral  estimates  of  actions  by  reason, 
we  are  impelled  to  the  good,  and  deterred  from  the 
evil,  by  the  strong  impulse  of  natural  instinct,  soon 
seconded  by  the  calculations  of  interest.  Thus,  du- 
plicity and  injustice  are  repugnant  to  us  before  we 
conceive  that  they  are  immoral.  Endowed  with  the 
faculty  of  expressing  our  thoughts,  it  cannot  be  our 
natural  instinct  to  disguise  them.  Born  with  a  desire 
of  independence,  and  witfh  the  sense  of  property, 
we  cannot,  without  a  feeling  of  aversion,  permit  our- 
selves to  be  robbed  ;  and,  whenever  we  see  others 

VOL.    II.  A  A 


302  JOUFFROY. 

robbed  or  ill-treated,  by  means  of  the  sympatbv  which 
Smith   has  so  well   described,   we   place    our 
their  situation,  and  feel  indignation  with  then 

l-»        4-1 

them.  Thus,  when  we  first  begin  to  ^reas-  ' 
moral  subjects,  we  already  reverence  good  am  l°u 
evil;  and  our  inward  nature  recognizes,  by  a  ,ong 
and  lively  sentiment,  the  qualities  in  actions  which 
reason  afterwards  reveals.  Two  results  arise  from 
this  fact;  first,  our  moral  estimates  are  more  readily 
made,  and  thus  prevented  from  rising  to  distinctness; 
and,  next,  they  are  accompanied  by  a  strong  sentiment, 
with  which  they  are  intermingled,  and,  in  some  sense, 
incorporated,  and  from  which  it  is  difficult  to  dis- 
tinguish them.  And  now  compare  together  these 
two  circumstances  —  on  the  one  hand,  the  natural 
obscurity  of  the  idea  of  good,  when  first  perceived 
by  reason,  and,  on  the  other,  the  primitive  estimates 
which  instinct  forms  of  the  actions  whose  character 
this  idea  is  intended  to  determine — and  you  will 
readily  comprehend  why  men  are  contented  with  the 
glimpse  of  the  moral  character  of  actions  derived 
from  the  sentiment,  which  speaks  so  loudly,  without 
making  great  efforts  to  see  more  distinctly  what  their 
whole  nature  confirms  and  proclaims.  On  the  other 
side,  gentlemen,  do  you  not  see  that  it  is  difficult, 
in  this  phenomenon,  where  sentiment  and  judgment, 
instinct  and  reason,  are  blended  together,  to  distin- 
guish the  part  performed  by  the  latter?  and  yet  more 
difficult  to  perceive  the  ideas  from  which  it  sets  out, 
and  the  mode  in  which  it  proceeds?  Do  you  not 
see  that  the  prevalent,  visible  element  is  sentiment  ? 
and  that  it  envelops,  as  it  were,  the  other  ?  Do  you 


THE      »ATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    893 

not  see  that,  in  thus  mingling  with,  advancing,  and 
a  pai;t  inma  the  judgment,  it  gives  it  the  appearance 
me  t  ^mediate  perception  1  Do  you  not  see  how 
whole3  **  *s  tnat  ^6  philosopher  who  regards  this 
enon  will  look  upon  it  as  altogether  a  sensible 
one  and,  even  if  he  disengages  its  two  elements, 
that  he  will  still  suppose  the  rational  one  to  be  an 
immediate  perception  ?  and,  finally,  if  he  does  discern 
and  distinguish  the  presupposed  idea,  that  still  he 
will  not  discover  its  true  nature,  when  so  many  cir- 
cumstances distract  his  attention,  and  prevent  him 
from  thoroughly  comprehending  so  complicated  a 
phenomenon  ?  This  at  once  explains  why  the  in- 
stinctive system  has  found  so  many  supporters,  and 
has  preceded  every  where  the  rational  system;  and 
why,  among  those  who  have  risen  to  this  latter  view, 
so  many  have  stopped  at  the  opinion  that  good 
is  an  immediate  perception  ;  and  why,  finally,  among 
those  who  have  perceived  the  distinction  between 
moral  good  and  absolute  good,  the  most  have  mis- 
conceived, in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  the  real 
idea. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  some  of  the  causes,  which, 
by  their  common  tendency  to  make  us  consider  moral 
appreciation  an  immediate  perception,  have  conspired 
to  conceal  from  the  view  of  philosophers  its  true 
elements  and  nature.  Although  different,  and  even 
opposed  in  nature,  the  facts  now  described  are  far 
from  excluding  each  other.  There  enter  into  our 
judgment  of  actions  instinctive  impulses,  prejudices 
of  education,  the  sentiment  of  good  and  evil.  All 


304  JOUFFROY. 

these  are  mingled  together  in  proportions  infinitely 
diverse.  And,  as  all  these  different  principle?  con- 
verge to  one  end,  they  act  together  like  a  single 
impulse,  and  in  the  profound  conviction  which  they 
produce,  are  so  blended  that  we  do  not  distinguish 
them  apart.  It  is  only  in  cases  where  they  diverge, 
and  where  their  apparent  unity  dissolves,  that  we 
separate  them  from  one  another.  Each  then  appears 
under  its  own  proper  form.  Instinct  acts  with  the 
blind  energy  of  an  impulse ;  prejudice  speaks  with 
the  authority  of  the  axioms  received  from  common 
sense ;  moral  judgment,  in  the  name  of  that  idea 
which  emanates  from  reason,  the  source  of  all  truth 
and  light.  Then  only  does  this  phenomenon  of  moral 
appreciation,  pure  and  separate  from  all  that  usually 
is  mingled  with  it,  appear  in  its  own  character ;  and 
then  only  have  we  an  opportunity  to  discover  its  true 
nature  and  real  elements.  If,  then,  on  the  one  hand, 
each  element  by  itself,  and  all  combined,  tend  to 
make  us  believe  that  the  perception  of  good  in 
actions  is  immediate,  and  if,  on  the  other,  even 
when  the  phenomenon  of  appreciation  is  separated 
from  those  with  which  it  is  usually  allied,  and  acts 
alone,  there  yet  are  in  the  laws  of  the  human  mind 
reasons  why  many  of  its  elements  should  remain 
half-hidden,  and  why  it  should  still  preserve  the 
appearance  of  immediate  perception  —  it  becomes 
plain  why  so  many  philosophers  have  thus  described 
it.  This  is  precisely  what  I  have  attempted  to  make 
clear  in  the  present  lecture. 

I    had   hoped,    gentlemen,    in    addition   to   this   ex- 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM    CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    ft05 

planation,  to  have  entered  upon  a  discussion  of  the 
system  of  Price ;  but,  as  I  am  unwilling  to  give 
a  partial  description  of  the  facts  which  seem  to 
me  to  prove  its  incorrectness,  I  will  postpone  the 
whole  discussion  till  we  meet  again. 


306 


JOUFFKO 


LECTURE    XXIII. 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

GENTLEMEN, 

To  appreciate  at  its  just  value  the  opinion 
of  Price  as  to  the  nature  of  good,  let  us  consider  it 
in  itself,  without  taking  note  of  those  paralogisms 
by  which  he  has  succeeded,  at  least  in  appearance, 
to  bring  it  into  harmony  with  facts.  When  once  we 
see  the  consequences  to  which  this  doctrine  leads, 
we  shall  comprehend  the  secret  necessity  by  which 
its  author  was  led  into  these  paralogisms.  We  can 
then  unveil  his  delusion,  and  draw  from  it  a  final 
proof,  furnished  by  himself,  that  the  system  which 
made  them  necessary  is  an  erroneous  one. 

What  is  the  essential  doctrine  of  this  system,  and 
on  what  is  it  founded  ?  I  have  already  told  you. 
It  consists  in  pretending  that  the  idea  of  good  rep- 
resents, in  the  human  mind,  only  a  quality  of  ac- 
tions —  a  simple  and  indefinable  quality,  immediately 
perceived  or  conceived,  in  each  case,  by  reason.  This 
doctrine  includes  two  distinct  propositions;  the  one 
fundamental,  which  affirms  that  nothing  is  good  in 
itself  except  actions ;  the  other  secondary,  which 
declares  that  goodness  is  a  simple  quality,  and  that 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    307 

it  is  immediately  perceived.  In  my  last  lecture,  I 
showed  you  how  these  two  propositions  were  connected 
together,  and  how,  when  the  first  is  admitted,  the 
second  necessarily  and  naturally  follows.  To-day, 
we  are  to  inquire  whether  these  propositions  are  true. 
If  they  are,  they  must  be,  both  in  themselves  and 
in  their  consequences,  in  harmony  with  facts.  Let 
us  compare  them,  then,  with  these  facts,  and  let  us 
begin  with  an  examination  of  the  second. 

We  will  admit,  then,  with  Price,  gentlemen,  that 
moral  goodness  is  a  simple  quality  of  actions,  and 
that  it  is  immediately  discovered,  either  by  an  intuition 
of  reason,  as  he  supposes,  or  by  a  perception  of  moral 
sense  analogous  to  perceptions  of  primary  qualities 
of  matter,  which  is  the  alternative  left  open  by  Stewart. 
And  now  let  us  consider  a  few  of  the  consequences 
which  result  from  either  of  these  suppositions. 

The  first  and  most  prominent  consequence  is,  that 
the  moral  appreciation  of  actions  gives  room  for  no 
exercise  of  reasoning.  For,  I  ask,  where  can  rea- 
soning find  entrance  ?  Not  in  the  question  whether 
an  action  is  good  or  bad ;  because  this  discovery  is 
given  by  intuition  or  immediate  perception.  Not  in 
the  question  as  to  the  degree  in  which  an  action 
is  good,  or  whether  it  is  more  or  less  good  than 
another;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  we  cannot  conceive 
of  degrees  in  a  simple  quality,  and,  on  the  other, 
if  these  degrees  are  conceived  to  exist  as  they  do  in 
the  color  or  hardness  of  bodies,  they  would  be  as 
immediately  perceived  as  the  quality  itself.  Now, 
besides  these  two  questions,  I  can  imagine  no  others 
which  can  arise  in  our  moral  appreciations;  and  as, 


308  JOUFFROY. 

according  to  this  hypothesis,  both  are  resolved  intui- 
tively, it  follows  that  reasoning  is  entirely  excluded. 

But,  if  reasoning  cannot  enter  into  moral  judgments, 
neither  can  discussion  or  demonstration  find  place 
there.  For,  I  ask  you,  on  what  point  could  a  dis- 
cussion be  raised  ?  and  how  could  it  be  directed  to 
establish  any  result  ?  Here  is  an  action  :  suppose 
that  you  think  it  good,  while  to  me  it  seems  bad:  how 
shall  either  of  us  convince  the  other  that  he  is  wrong? 
If  this  could  be  done,  it  would  follow  that  the  opinion 
of  each  was  founded  upon  reasons,  because  each 
would  bring  forward  reasons  in  its  support ;  but  these 
opinions  are  founded  on  immediate  perception.  All 
that  you  could  say,  therefore,  would  be,  simply,  that 
your  reason  immediately  discovers  moral  goodness  in 
this  action.  To  this  assertion  I  should  reply,  that 
my  reason  immediately  perceives  moral  evil  in  it ; 
and  here  the  whole  discussion  would  terminate,  just 
as  it  would  in  the  case  of  two  men,  one  of  whom 
thought  that  an  object  was  white,  and  the  other  that 
it  was  red.  In  so  far  as  it  is  an  immediate  perception, 
j  demonstration  and  discussion  can  do  nothing  to  estab- 
lish it.  On  the  one  hand,  we  can  demonstrate  to 
others  only  that  which  has  been  demonstrated  to 
ourselves,  and  we  can  offer  no  reasons  for  convincing 
others  of  an  idea  which  was  not  itself  derived  from 
reason;  and,  on  the  other,  it  is  absurd  to  discuss 
points  which  cannot  be  demonstrated,  when  the  very 
object  of  discussion  is  to  arrive  at  a  demonstra- 
tion. 

Yet  more,  gentlemen  ;  the  hypothesis  of  Price 
makes  it  impossible  to  conceive  that  there  should  be 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    309 

a  difference  of  opinion  in  morality.  As  each  action 
has,  by  its  nature,  a  moral  character,  which  is  im- 
mutable, and  as  this  character  is  immediately  per- 
ceived by  reason,  it  is  impossible  that  reason  should 
see  in  it  an  opposite  character  which  has  no  existence. 
One  man,  therefore,  can  never  consider  as  evil  what 
another  thinks  good ;  or  else  reason  would  be  essen- 
tially different  in  different  human  beings.  It  is  equally 
impossible  that  one  should  perceive  and  another  not 
perceive  the  goodness  or  evil  of  actions.  For  that 
which  is  immediately  intelligible  or  perceptible  can 
be  conceived  or  perceived  by  all  men  alike.  It  can 
never  happen,  therefore,  that  a  man  should  consider 
an  action  indifferent,  which  others  esteem  either  good 
or  bad.  Thus  the  hypothesis  of  Price  excludes  from  A 
morality  not  only  reasoning,  demonstration,  and  dis-  I  •/ 
cussion,  but,  yet  more,  it  excludes  the  possibility  / 
of  different  opinions. 

But,  if  this  is  true,  gentlemen,  what  is  the  con- 
sequence? It  is  as  follows  —  that  all  men  are  equally 
capable  of  appreciating  the  morality  of  actions,  and 
consequently  equally  enlightened  in  moral  judgment; 
that,  in  this  respect,  therefore,  there  can  be  no 
difference  between  the  learned  and  the  ignorant,  and /^ 
the  men  of  different  ages ;  that  moral  science  con-Y 
sequently  cannot  be  developed  nor  improved  with 
the  progress  of  civilization,  but  that  savages  must 
be  equally  well  informed  with  ourselves ;  that  the 
morality  of  no  actidh  can  be  proved  or  deduced 
from  that  of  other  actions,  and  consequently  that 
morality  cannot  be  reduced  to  a  system,  or  taught; 
and,  finally,  that  what  we  call  ethics  cannot  be  a 


310  JOUFFROY. 

science,  or,  if  it  is  so,  that  it  can  be  nothing  more 
than  a  catalogue  of  actions,  discovered  by  reason 
to  be  good  or  bad.  Such,  gentlemen,  are  some  of 
the  consequences  which  flow  from  this  hypothesis. 
Neither  of  these  propositions  can  be  denied,  if  it 
is  true  that  good  is  a  simple  quality  of  actions  im- 
mediately perceived.  They  are  all  either  derived 
directly  from  this  hypothesis,  or  are  strict  corollaries 
of  the  propositions  which  we  have  deduced  from  it. 

You  will  -  please  to  remark,  gentlemen,  that,  in 
attributing  to  the  opinion  of  Price  and  Stewart  these 
various  consequences,  I  only  impose  on  the  intuition 
or  immediate  perception  of  good  the  laws  which 
govern  all  other  immediate  intuitions  of  reason  and 
immediate  perceptions  of  sense.  Review,  on  the  one 
hand,  the  immediate  perceptions  oi  sense,  such  as 
extension,  impenetrability,  solidity,  form ;  and,  on 
the  other,  the  immediate  intuitions  of  reason,  such 
as  the  idea  of  place  in  relation  to  bodies,  of  time 
in  relation  to  events,  of  cause  in  relation  to  whatever 
begins  to  be,  of  substance  in  relation  to  attributes, 
of  the  permanence  of  the  laws  of  nature  whenever 
we  see  any  thing  happen  many  times  —  review,  I  say, 
these  intuitions  and  these  perceptions,  and  see  whether 
what  I  have  said  of  the  morality  of  actions  is  not 
true  of  whatever  these  perceptions  and  these  intuitions 
reveal.  Do  men  reason,  offer  proofs,  or  dispute  about 
them  ?  Is  it  necessary  to  teach  them  to  children  ? 
Is  there  any  man  who  has  not  these  ideas?  Are 
they  different  in  different  persons?  Are  they  different- 
ly developed  in  different  minds  ?  Have  not  all  persons 
these  notions  and  convictions  alike,  under  the  same 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    311 

circumstances  ?  Is  there  a  savage  in  the  woods  of 
New  Holland,  or  a  peasant  on  our  mountains,  who 
does  not  believe,  equally  with  the  greatest  philosopher, 
in  all  that  these  perceptions  and  intuitions  teach? 
Can  any  progress,  any  revolutions  of  opinion  what- 
ever, be  discovered  in  the  ideas  of  the  human  race 
upon  these  notions  ?  We  must,  then,  either  say  that 
the  intuition  or  perception  of  good  in  actions  is  not 
subject  to  the  law  which  governs  all  other  immediate 
intuitions  of  reason  and  immediate  perceptions  of 
sense,  or  admit,  that,  in  deducing  from  the  opinion 
of  Price  these  consequences,  I  have  been  just  to  his 
principle ;  and  that,  in  adopting  the  hypothesis  that 
good  is  a  simple  quality  immediately  perceived  in 
actions,  we  cannot  legitimately  deny  any  of  these 
consequences. 

Now,  gentlemen,  is  it  necessary  to  do  more  than 
announce  these  consequences,  to  show  that  they  are 
entirely  opposed  to  the  moral  facts,  which  the  obser- 
vation of  human  nature  presents  1  Parents  do  not 
teach  their  children  that  bodies  are  extended,  solid, 
round,  square,  white,  or  red ;  but  they  do  teach  them 
that  some  actions  are  good  and  others  bad,  and  do 
seek  to  explain  why  they  are  so.  We  never  see  men 
discussing  the  questions,  whether  an  effect  had  a 
cause,  or  whether  a  body  is  hard  or  soft;  but  we  do 
every  day  see  them  disputing  whether  an  action  is 
good  or  bad.  Their  language  is  not  only,  Look  and 
see,  but  they  reason,  they  argue,  they  bring  proofs, 
as  if  the  actual  existence  of  this  simple  quality,  so 
immediately  perceived,  could  be  established.  We  do 
not  find  that  the  men  of  one  era  or  of  one  nation 


JOUFFROY. 

understand  better  than  others  time,  space,  or  the 
simple  qualities  of  bodies;  but  we  do  see  that  a 
knowledge  of  the  moral  qualities  of  actions  is  at 
a  different  stage  of  advancement  in  different  ages  and 
countries.  Finally,  in  the  same  country  and  age,  we 
do  not  see  individuals  differing  in  their  capacity  of 
determining  whether  objects  are  round  or  square,  blue 
or  red,  solid  or  liquid,  while  the  universal  judgment 
declares  that  some  individuals  are  more  competent  to 
judge  of  actions  than  others,  and  all  men  manifest 
(his  conviction  by  consulting  some,  while  they  disre- 
gard the  opinion  of  others,  on  the  pretext  of  their 
ivant  of  intelligence  upon  such  subjects. 

But  let  us  enter  now  into  a  more  detailed  compari- 
son of  certain  facts  with  the  hypothesis  of  Price,  and 
we  shall  see  yet  more  clearly  that  it  is  necessarily  and 
evidently  false. 

It  frequently  happens  that  two  duties  are  opposed 
*o  each  other.  For  example,  I  may  be  so  situated, 
(hat,  by  acting  in  a  certain  way,  I  may-  render  my 
country  a  service,  while  at  the  same  time  I  endanger 
my  family.  Now,  how,  in  such  cases,  do  we  deter- 
mine what  is  right?  Experience  at  once  tell  us  that 
it  is  by  reasoning.  But  how  would  reasoning  avail, 
according  to  the  opinion  of  Price  ?  It  is  impossible 
to  divine.  Reason  perceives  moral  goodness  in  my 
benefiting  my  family.  It  perceives  goodness  equally 
in  my  desire  to  be  useful  to  my  country.  A  moral 
quality,  and,  consequently,  a  duty,  is  recognized  in 
both  these  acts,  and  is  equally  simple  and  irreducible 
in  both.  How  shall  I  decide?  How  determine  this 
conflict?  To  do  so,  I  need  a  higher  standard  by 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    313 

which  to  measure  them  both ;  whereas,  according  to 
the  hypothesis,  I  have  no  such  standard.  The  one 
act  is  good,  and  so  also  is  the  other,  and  both  are 
equally  so;  and  there  is  no  pretext  for  supposing  that 
the  goodness  of  the  one  is  superior  to  that  of  the 
other.  And  even  if  we  should  admit  degrees  in  moral 
goodness,  as  in  whiteness,  this  difference  would  still 
be  immediately  perceived,  and  there  would  be  no  need 
for  reasoning.  But  experience  testifies  that  we  do 
reason  in  these  cases ;  and  do,  by  reasoning,  determine 
which  duty  is  to  be  preferred.  From  such  instances, 
it  may  readily  be  perceived  that  moral  goodness  is 
not  an  intrinsic  quality  of  actions,  but  a  relation  of 
actions  to  something  else.  For  these  conflicts  between 
duties  are  decided,  and  decided  after  examination ; 
and  we  feel  distinctly  in  what  this  examination  con- 
sists. It  consists  in  ascending  to  the  principle  of  all  j 
morality,  to  that  end,  by  their  relation  to  which  actions  j 
are  good,  and  in  determining  which  of  these  actions 
tends  most  to  realize  it.  Here  is  the  key  to  the 
enigma ;  but  we  cannot  find  it  in  the  system  of 
Price. 

And  neither  can  we  find  in  this  system  an  explana- 
tion of  what  happens,  when,  instead  of  cases  in  which 
it  has  long  been  determined  what  conduct  is  proper, 
a  rare  and  unaccustomed  situation  presents  itself,  to 
which  established  rules  do  not  apply ;  or  when  a 
moral  opinion,  admitted  for  centuries,  as,  for  instance, 
the  propriety  of  slavery,  is  first  attacked.  For,  I 
ask,  why,  in  the  nrstcase,  should  there  be  hesita- 
tion, and  an  anxious  search  for  truth  ;  and  why,  in 
the  second,  should  these  reasonings  and  discussions 

VOL.  II.  B  B 


314  JOUFFROY. 

be  prolonged,  and  the  human  mind  left  for  centuries 
in  doubt,  between  what  it  has  believed,  and  what 
it  ought  to  believe  ?  In  my  opinion,  the  answer  is 
simple.  In  the  first  case,  the  situation  being  un- 
wonted, and,  consequently,  the  conduct  which  is  con- 
formed to  absolute  good  undetermined,  we  need  time 
to  consider  it;  and  in  the  second,  the  error  of  the 
human  race  is  explained  by  the  consideration  that  men 
may  be  deceived  as  to  the  true  relation  of  an  action 
to  absolute  good.  The  discovery  of  this  error  in  the 
minds  of  some,  and  the  contest  between  the  old  opin- 
ion and  the  new,  and  the  painful  toil  of  deciding  the 
question  by  a  comparison  of  these  opinions  with 
absolute  good,  are  also  easily  explained.  But  all 
these  points  remain  unaccounted  for  by  the  hypothesis 
of  Price.  Whether  a  situation  is  or  is  riot  an  unac- 
customed one,  there  is  always  a  choice  between  two 
courses  of  conduct,  each  of  which  has  a  moral  char- 
acter ;  and  this  character  is  an  inherent  quality  which 
reason  is  as  capable  of  recognizing,  as  the  eye  is 
of  perceiving  whiteness  in  bodies.  It  is  not  readily 
seen  how  the  fact  that  an  action  is  new  or  common 
can  affect  the  facility  of  the  perception.  Is  the  eye 
more  perplexed  in  perceiving  whiteness  in  a  body  seen 
for  the  first  time  than  in  one  which  is  familiar  ? 
Not  at  all ;  and  in  the  same  way  would  the  moral 
character  of  the  most  unaccustomed  act,  in  the  most 
novel  situation,  be  as  readily  perceived,  according  to 
the  hypothesis  of  Price,  as  that  of  the  most  ordinary 
action.  And  even  if  it  should  be  admitted  that  there 
might  be  hesitation,  it  could  nowise  be  gran-ted  that 
reason  would  be  of  service  in  removing  our  doubts  , 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    315 

for  no  one  reasons  as  to  the  simple  qualities  of  bodies, 
immediately  perceived  ;  they  either  are  or  they  are 
not ;  and  we  either  do  or  do  not  perceive  them.  This 
is  all.  Reasoning  has  nothing  further  to  do.  Thus 
the  grand  science  of  casuistry,  which  has  occupied 
moralists  in  all  time,  can  have  no  possible  meaning, 
according  to  this  hypothesis,  and  must  be  an  illusion 
of  the  human  mind.  All  that  I  have  now  said  applies 
with  equal  force  to  revolutions  of  human  opinion  as 
to  the  moral  quality  of  particular  acts.  On  the  one 
hand,  it  is  not  easy  to  comprehend  how,  according  to 
the  opinion  of  Price,  there  can  be  error  in  moral 
judgments  ;  for  to  this  we  can  find  nothing  analogous  ; 
and,  on  the  other,  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  any  dis- 
cussion can  take  place.  All  controversy  would  resolve 
itself  necessarily  into  two  opposing  affirmations;  the 
one  party  saying,  This  action  appears  to  us  good  ;  the 
other,  It  appears  to  us  bad ;  but  without  either  the 
one  or  the  other  being  able  to  bring  any  proof  of 
their  respective  assertions;  for  this  the  doctrine  we 
are  considering  does  not  suppose  possible  in  moral 
judgments. 

You  see,  gentlemen,  how  far  the  consequences  of 
the  doctrine  of  Price  extend.  You  see  that  they  do 
no  less  than  contradict  the  fact  of  the  progress  of 
humanity  in  moral  science.  I  cannot  forbear  to  dwell 
a  moment  upon  this  fact  of  the  progress  of  the  human 
race,  because  it  is  experience  on  a  wide  scale,  such 
as  cannot  be  denied,  and  which  has  infinitely  more 
authority  than  private  experience.  What  is  the  tes- 
timony of  this  experience  ?  It  bears  witness  to  a 
progress  in  moral  science,  as  much  as  in  the  science 


316  JOUFFROY. 

of  astronomy.  Take  any  people  in  the  savage  state, 
and  draw  a  comparison  between  their  moral  ideas 
and  ours.  Unquestionably,  you  will  find  them  less 
developed.  You  will  find  that  upon  many  points, 
as  to  which  our  consciences  have  no  doubt,  the  con- 
science of  the  savage  hesitates.  And  you  will  find 
that  his  judgments  upon  many  other  points  are  in 
manifest  contradiction  to  ours.  Compare  the  least  and 
most  civilized  nations  of  Europe  together,  or  ancient 
times  with  modern,  and  you  cannot  but  remark  the 
same  differences,  all  attesting  this  progress.  Nothing 
is  more  evident  than  that  the  moral  character  of 
different  actions  does  thus  become  more  clearly  recog- 
nized, and  more  firmly  established,  and,  therefore, 
that  moral  science,  like  all  other  science,  is  progres- 
sive. Price  himself  does  not  deny  this,  and  Stewart 
formally  acknowledges  it.  Now,  I  repeat,  according 
to  the  hypothesis  of  Price,  this  is  inexplicable;  and 
quite  as  inexplicable  is  also  the  fact  that  judges  often 
absolve  criminals,  or  at  least  lighten  the  penalties 
inflicted  by  the  law,  from  the  consideration  that  their 
minds  are  but  partially  enlightened.  For,  however 
this  hypothesis  may  be  understood,  —  whether  it  is  said, 
with  Price,  that  the  discovery  of  good  in  actions  is 
an  intuition  of  reason,  or  whether,  with  Stewart,  we 
adopt  the  alternative,  that  it  is  an  intuition  of  reason 
or  a  perception  of  moral  sense,  —  I  have  still  shown 
that  all  analogies  contradict  any  explanation  which  it 
can  give  of  these  facts. 

I  should  not  stop  here,  gentlemen,  if  I  thought  it 
worth  while  to  compare  with  the  opinion  of  Price 
all  the  particular  facts  with  which  it  is  incompatible 


- , 

THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEMS— -  CRITICISM-  OF    PRICE.    317 

I  might  make  a  long  list  of  these ;  but  the  details 
into  which  we  have  already  entered,  are  sufficient, 
and  much  remains  yet  to  be  done.  I  have  proved 
that  Price's  second  proposition,  that  good  is  a  simple 
quality  of  actions,  immediately  perceived,  is  in  itself 
untenable.  Let  us  now  see  whether  the  first  proposi- 
tion, which  is,  that  nothing  is  absolutely  good  except 
actions,  —  of  which  the  second  proposition  is,  as  I  have 
shown  you  already,  only  a  corollary,  —  can  better  stand 
the  test  of  an  examination. 

You  will  see  that  this  proposition  bears  the  same 
relation  to  the  nature  of  good,  as  that  which  I  have 
already  refuted  does  to  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
perceived.  It  overlooks,  as  I  have  told  you,  the 
distinction  between  absolute  good  and  moral  good, 
and  maintains  that  the  idea  represented  by  good  is 
only  a  quality  of  actions.  Ts  this  doctrine  as  to  the 
nature  of  good  tenable  ?  Is  it  true  that  there  is  no 
good  which  we  can  recognize  except  in  actions  ? 
Let  us  see. 

And,  first,  gentlemen,  if  this  is  true,  it  follows  that 
the  end  of  good  actions  is  not  distinct  from  the 
good  actions  themselves.  Why  ought  I  to  do  a  good 
action  ?  Because  it  is  good.  But  why,  according  to 
Price,  is  it  good  ?  Only  because  the  quality  of  good 
is  perceived  in  it.  The  end  of  a  good  act,  then, 
is  the  act  itself.  I  act  in  such  a  way  for  the  .purpose 
of  acting  in  such  a  way  ;  or  I  refrain  from  acting 
in  another  way  for  the  purpose  of  thus  refraining. 
This  is  as  much  as  to  say,  from  the  fact  that  the  act 
is  good,  I  may  infer  that  its  result  is  so  too  ;  thus, 
for  instance,  because  it  seems  to  me  that  the  act 


318  JOUFFROY. 

of  knowing  is  good,  I  may  infer  that  knowledge  is  a 
good ;  and,  because  it  seems  to  me  a  good  action 
to  advance  the  happiness  of  my  fellow-beings,  I  may 
infer  that  the  happiness  of  my  fellow- beings  is  a  good. 
But  the  goodness  of  the  result  is  only  a  derived 
goodness,  inferred  from  that  of  the  act,  which  alone 
is  immediate.  Every  good  end,  therefore,  is  made 
so  by  the  goodness  of  the  act,  and  every  bad  end 
by  the  evil  of  the  act,  which  produces  it.  A  man's 
ignorance  is  an  evil  only  because  it  is  an  evil  in  him 
that  he  does  not  enlighten  his  mind,  or  an  evil  in 
others  not  to  deliver  him  from  this  ignorance.  In 
themselves,  ignorance  and  knowledge  are  indifferent; 
so  that,  to  learn  whether  an  end  is  good  or  bad,  we 
must  see  whether  the  act  which  tends  to  produce  it 
is  good  or  bad.  If  this  is  true  in  relation  to  man, 
it  must  be  also  true  of  God.  He  could  have  had 
no  other  end,  in  creating  the  world,  than  to  do  a 
good  act ;  and  it  is  because  the  act  by  which  he 
created  universal  order  seemed  to  him  good,  that 
universal  order  was  created.  This  order  could  have 
had  no  other  goodness,  in  his  view  or  in  itself,  than  as 
a  result  of  this  act. 

It  follows  still  further  from  this,  that  whatever  is 
not  an  act,  or  the  result  of  an  act,  can  have  no 
goodness,  either  immediate  or  derived.  Thus  health 
in  itself  is  no  better  than  sickness,  and  one  can  be 
considered  a  good,  and  the  other  an  evil,  only  in  so 
far  as  the  one  is  the  consequence  of  a  good  act,  and 
the  other  of  a  bad  one,  committed  by  ourselves  or 
our  parents.  So  that  sickness,  when  it  results  from 
good  acts,  becomes  good,  better  than  health  produced 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    319 

by  indifferent  and  bad  acts.  In  a  word,  nothing  is 
good  in  itself  except  an  action,  or  by  its  relation 
to  an  action  ;  and  whatever  is  neither  an  action  nor 
the  effect  of  an  action  can  have  no  real  goodness, 
and  must  be  valueless,  except  as  related  to  our  happi- 
ness or  some  natural  desire. 

And,  as  the  appreciation  of  the  result  of  an  action, 
if  derived  from  the  appreciation  of  the  action  itself, 
supposes  a  knowledge  of  the  action  in  him  who  judges, 
and  as  the  same  result  may  be  produced  by  many 
different  actions,  it  follows  that  no  result  nor  end 
can  have  any  character,  nor  be  judged  as  either  good 
or  bad,  so  long  as  we  are  ignorant  of  the  act  by 
which  it  was  produced.  On  the  contrary,  the  result 
and  end  of  actions  does  nothing  to  determine  their 
character ;  for,  if  it  did,  the  character  of  the  actions 
would  be  derived  from  it;  and  if  thus  derived,  all 
goodness  or  evil  cannot  be  inherent  in  actions ;  and 
there  must  be  something  not  an  action  which  possesses 
in  itself  good  or  evil,  because  it  communicates  these 
qualities  to  the  actions. 

It  is  not  necessary,  I  suppose,  to  go  further,  to 
show  the  evident  confusion,  introduced  by  Price's 
system,  between  two  Tcinri^of jmodal together  ^lifferent^ 
though  closely  united— -moral I  good,  which  is  and  can 
be  only  a  quality  of  actions,  and  absolute  good,  which 
can  be  recognized  in  many  things  besides  actions, 
and  which  belongs  to  them  independently  of  actions. 
These  things,  good  in  themselves,  I  call  ends,  because 
they  may  become  the  ends  of  conduct  and  of  action  ; 
and  I  believe  them  to  be  good  in  themselves,  only 
as  the  elements  of  a  supreme  end,  which  is  the  true 


320  JOUFFROY. 

good,  and  the  reality  represented  by  the  word  good. 
That  there  are  such  ends,  gentlemen,  that  they  are 
good  in  themselves,  and  that  their  goodness  is  not 
determined  by  that  of  the  actions  which  produce 
them,  but,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  goodness  of  no 
action  can  be  determined  except  by  that  of  these 
ends,  are  facts  which,  evidently,  the  hypothesis  of 
Price  has  misconceived ;  and  yet  I  assert  that  they 
can  be  easily  established  —  that  they  are  strongly 
attested  by  the  common  faith  of  mankind. 

Is  it  not  plainly  contrary  to  the  opinions  of  men, 
that  no  end  is  good  in  itself,  and  independent  of  the 
actions  which  produce  it?  What!  is  knowledge  in 
itself  indifferent,  and  no  better  than  ignorance  ?  or  is 
it  better  only  because  the  act  of  acquiring  it  is  morally 
good,  and  that  of  remaining  in  ignorance  morally 
bad  ?  What !  is  this  true,  too,  of  the  happiness  of 
men,  when  compared  with  misery  1  of  sympathy, 
when  compared  with  enmity  ?  of  health,  when  com- 
pared with  sickness  ?  and  of  many  other  ends,  which 
it  would  be  tedious  to  mention  ?  Assuredly,  nothing 
can  be  more  contrary  to  the  universal  convictions 
of  men  than  such  a  doctrine.  In  the  universal 
opinion,  science  is  considered  good  in  itself,  ignorance 
bad  in  itself,  and  the  happiness  of  men  in  itself  better 
than  their  misery ;  and  men  are  far  from  believing 
that  the  goodness  or  badness  of  these  ends  comes 
from  the  moral  character  of  the  acts  of  gaining 
intelligence  and  of  being  benevolent  on  the  one  hand, 
or  of  remaining  in  ignorance  and  doing  injury  on 
the  other.  On  the  contrary,  every  one  believes  that 
it  is  the  goodness  or  badness  of  these  ends  which 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    321 

renders  the  acts  which  tend  towards  them  morally 
good  or  bad.  To  deny  this  would  be  to  deny  the 
deliberations  which  we  enter  into  every  day  and  every 
moment ;  it  would  be  to  deny  our  most  common  and 
familiar  moral  judgments.  How  do  I  proceed,  in 
many  cases,  to  determine  whether  an  action  which 
I  am  about  to  do  is  good  or  bad?  I  examine  the 
end  souoht.  and  the  result  which  the  act  is  calculated 

O         ' 

to  produce ;  and  it  is  only  by  my  judgment  as  to  this 
end  or  result,  that  I  can  decide  upon  the  morality 
of  the  action.  Do  I  not  daily  conceive  of  ends  to 
be  pursued,  and  say  the  end  is  good  ?  and  to  act 
for  its  attainment  with  a  consciousness  that  my  con- 
duct is  calculated  to  accomplish  it,  is  consequently 
lawful  and  honorable?  Again,  when,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  see  my  fellow-men  perform  acts,  do  I  not, 
before  determining  the  morality  of  their  conduct, 
seek  to  discover  what  ends  they  pursue,  and  suspend 
my  judgment  until  they  are  known  ?  And,  I  ask 
now,  what  means  the  word  end,  if  there  is  no  such 
thing,  and  if  the  doctrine  of  Price  is  true  ?  What 
can  this  word  signify,  except  the  object  of  an  action  ? 
The  end  of  an  action,  then,  is  the  thing  in  view 
of  which  it  is  done ;  so  that,  if  a  thing  is  only  the 
result  of  an  action,  it  is  simply  an  effect,  and  not 
an  end.  Now,  if  all  results  were  indifferent,  if  they 
had  no  character  in  themselves,  and  derived  their 
goodness  only  from  that  of  the  acts  which  produce 
them,  we  should  never  consider  before  acting,  and 
conduct  would  be  directed  only  to  effects,  and  never 
to  ends ;  the  words  end  and  object  would  be  unmean- 
ing, and  would  have  no  place  in  human  speech. 


322  JOUFFROY. 

I  am  aware,  gentlemen,  that  the  goodness  of  actions, 
or  moral  good,  may  and  ought  to  be  one  of  our  ends. 
But  this  is  an  ulterior  result,  which  I  will  explain. 
What  I  complain  of  in  Price  is,  that  he  has  mistaken 
this  final  result  of  moral  conceptions  for  the  principle 
of  these  conceptions.  Before  the  goodness  of  an 
act  can  be  the  end  proposed  in  doing  it,  the  act  must 
previously  have  been  recognized  as  good ;  and  I 
cannot  find  fault  with  Price  that  he  has  overlooked 
so  evident  a  truth  as  this.  But  what  I  do  reproach 
him  with  is,  that  he  did  not  see  that  every  good  action 
whatever  presupposes  the  goodness  of  certain  ends. 
Assuredly,  if  any  one  virtue  seems  to  be  immediately 
perceived,  it  is  justice.  And  yet,  what  is  it  to  be 
just  ?  It  is  to  refrain  from  doing  wrong  to  another. 
But,  before  we  can  thus  refrain,  we  must  know  in 
what  his  good  consists.  There  must,  therefore,  be 
such  a  good.  Now,  in  what  does  it  consist  ?  Cer- 
tainly not  in  the  quality  of  his  conduct ;  for  this 
constitutes  his  morality,  and  not  his  good.  Evidently, 
then,  this  good  consists  in  the  end  to  which  he  is 
destined.  I  must  know,  therefore,  the  end  of  my 
fellow-beings,  before  I  can  treat  them  with  justice ; 
and  justice  in  me  is  only  a  respect  for  this  end.  But 
every  created  thing  has  an  end,  even  trees  and  plants; 
and  yet  I  have  no  scruple  in  preventing  trees  from 
accomplishing  their  end,  and  I  do  it  without  any  con- 
sciousness of  being  unjust.  There  must,  then,  be, 
in  the  end  of  a  fellow-creature,  something  that  makes 
it  worthy  of  my  respect,  and  which  is  not  to  be  found 
in  that  of  the  tree.  And,  whatever  this  is,  it  is  some- 
thing which,  being  peculiar  to  the  end  of  man,  makes 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    323 

i  regard  for  it  a  good  act.  Whence  you  see,  that 
>he  goodness  of  a  just  act  —  of  that  very  act  whose 
moral  quality  is  most  immediately  perceived  —  is  con- 
nected originally  with  the  goodness  of  an  end.  This 
is  what  Price  has  failed  to  see.  What  has  now  been 
said  is  not  inconsistent,  however,  with  the  fact,  that 
justice,  or,  yet  more,  moral  good,  which  comprehends 
justice  and  every  other  virtue,  may  finally  become 
an  end  for  conduct. 

But  I  perceive,  gentlemen,  that  I  cannot  carry  out 
these  observations  without  entering  upon  the  exposi- 
tion of  the  true  foundations  of  morality ;  and  that 
is  not  the  subject  of  the  present  lecture.  I  have 
said  enough  to  prove,  that,  independently  of  moral 
good,  all  our  deliberations  and  moral  judgments  prove 
that  there  is  another  good,  which,  far  from  being 
derived  from  this,  evidently  gives  it  its  origin  ;  and 
thus,  that  the  proposition  that  good  is  only  a  quality 
of  actions,  is  no  less  contradicted  by  facts  than  the 
proposition  that  goodness  in  actions  is  a  simple  quality 
immediately  perceived.  Thus,  gentlemen,  these  two 
propositions  must  be  either  both  false  or  both  true  ; 
for,  as  I  have  already  said,  they  are  closely  connected 
together,  and  form  only  one  and  the  same  doctrine, 
which  is  that  of  all  the  moral  systems  which  consider 
good  indefinable.  Indefinable  it  indeed  is,  if  moral 
good  is  the  only  gooa;  "and  ii'  in  derm  able,  then  lt>  it 
also  true  that  moral  good  is  the  only  good.  These 
two  propositions  are  inseparable;  so  that  it  is  sufficient 
to  show  that  one  is  irreconcilable  with  facts,  and 
consequently  false,  to  show  that  the  other  cannot 
be  maintained.  The  refutation  of  each,  therefore 
confirms  that  of  the  other. 


324  JOUFFUOY. 

But  this  twofold  refutation  is  yet  more  confirmed 
by  the  avowal  of  Price  himself,  who,  notwithstand- 
ing his  system,  and  even  in  his  system  has  recog- 
nized all  that  I  have  sought,  in  this  lecture,  to 
establish  ?  How  has  he  done  this  1  I  will  tell  you. 

You  have  already  often  remarked,  gentlemen,  that 
the  necessity  of  bringing  their  systems  into  harmony 
with  facts,  and  with  the  universal  consciousness  of 
men,  invariably  leads  philosophers  to  introduce  con- 
tradictions into  their  systems,  that  they  may  have  the 
air  of  explaining  every  thing.  We  have  seen  how 
the  selfish  philosophers  have  done  this,  in  substituting 
the  general  good  in  place  of  their  more  narrow  prin- 
ciple of  private  good.  We  have  seen  how  Smith 
has  done  it,  by  introducing  into  his  theory  the  fiction 
of  the  impartial  spectator  ;  and  we  have  been  obliged, 
in  forming  a  correct  judgment  of  these  doctrines,  to 
bring  them  back  to  their  fundamental  principles,  and 
to  separate  from  them  all  that  is  heterogeneous.  Price, 
gentlemen,  has  unguardedly  fallen  into  the  same 
error,  and  used  a  similar  artifice,  if  we  may  apply 
such  a  name  to  an  involuntary  paralogism.  Among 
the  consequences  of  his  system,  which  we  have  de- 
scribed, there  are  several  which  could  not  escape  his 
attention.  For  instance,  he  could  nx^jiyjaJji-seefflg, 
that,  according  to  his  theory  of  immediate  perception, 
all  reasoning,  all  discussion,  all  demonstration  would 
be  as  foreign  to  the  appreciation  of  actions  as  they 
are  to  that  of  the  primary  and  secondary  qualities 
of  matter.  And  yet  he  could  not  disguise  to  him- 
self the  fact  that  men  do  reason  and  discuss  upon 
moral  questions.  Price,  gentlemen,  has  been  bound, 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    325 

therefore,  to  seek  an  explanation  of  these  facts  in 
his  system  ;  and  to  find  it  he  has  been  led  to  inquire, 
in  the  first  place,  to  what  end  all  these  reasonings 
arid  discussions  in  moral  questions  are  directed.  He 
has  been  compelled,  consequently,  to  see  that  they  are 
directed  to  the  accompanying  circumstances  of  ac- 
tions, which,  in  proportion  as  they  are  changed,  alter 
their  character.  It  would  seem,  therefore,  as  if  he 
must  have  been  led  to  conclude  that  actions  are 
judged  by  these  circumstances,  and,  consequently,  that 
the  moral  good  or  evil  of  actions,  instead  of  being 
an  intrinsic  quality,  is  resolved  into  the  relation 
between  actions  and  circumstances.  But  the  hypoth- 
esis, that  moral  good  is  a  quality  of  actions,  was  too 
deeply  rooted  in  his  mind.  He  considered  this  as 
settled  and  undeniable.  Instead,  therefore,  of  dedu- 
cing from  the  fact  consequences  which  would  have 
overturned  his  hypothesis,  Price  took  the  more 
simple  course  of  including  these  attendant  circum- 
stances in  his  definition  of  an  action,  and  of  con- 
sidering them  integral  parts  of  the  actions.  He, 
therefore,  has  said,  By  an  action,  I  do  not  mean  an 
act,  separated  from  its  attendant  circumstances ;  for 
an  act  thus  considered  has  no  moral  character;  but 
I  mean  the  act,  with  its  motive  and  its  end  —  the  act, 
with  the  circumstances  of  its  agent  and  its  object; 
for  all  these  are  essential  elements  of  the  action,  and 
according  as  the  circumstances  vary  does  the  action 
change. 

This  Price  has  said,  merely  in  passing,  as  if  it  was 
an   obvious   and    simple   thing,    which  no   one    could    I 
question.     And,    in    fact,    gentlemen,    it   never  would 
\o:,.   ii.  c  c 


326  JOUFFROY. 

be  disputed  by  common  sens^. ;  for  common  sense 
agrees  in  recognizing,  with  Price,  that  the  moral 
quality  of  an  action  depends  upon  its  motive  and  its 
end,  and  upon  the  circumstances  of  its  agent  and 
its  object.  This  cannot  be  denied.  Daily  experience 
proves  that  an  isolated  act  has  no  moral  quality,  but 
that  it  takes  its  character  from  its  attending  circum- 
stances, and  changes  with  their  change.  Common 
sense,  therefore,  raises  no  objection  to  this  definition 
of  an  action.  But,  gentlemen,  there  is  something 
that  does  deny  and  cry  out  against  this  definition, 
and  with  good  reason.  Do  you  know  what  it  is  ? 
It  is  the  system  of  Price  itself —  his  entire  system. 
Common  sense  is  satisfied,  but  the  system  of  Price 
cannot  be.  This  definition  of  an  action  is  fatal  to  it. 
This  system  alone  has  reason  to  complain,  therefore 
because  it  alone  suffers ;  and  Price  is  reduced  to  the 
alternative,  therefore,  either  of  giving  up  his  defini- 
tion, or  of  rejecting  his  system. 

Let  me  ask  you,  gentlemen,  to  observe,  for  a  mo- 
ment, in  what  manner  an  action  would  be  judged,  and 
in  what  its  goodness  would  consist,  if  the  definition 
is  true.  Undoubtedly,  if  Price  had  spoken  only  of 
the  motive,  the  contradiction  to  his  system  would  have 
been  less ;  for,  in  whatever  way  the  goodness  of  an 
action  is  perceived,  and  in  whatever  its  goodness  con- 
sists, the  agent,  to  be  good  in  what  he  does,  must 
still  act  in  view  of  this  goodness.  It  might  be  said, 
therefore,  that  the  consideration  of  the  motive  regards 
only  the  goodness  of  the  agent,  and  not  that  of  his 
action.  But  the  end  of  the  action  is  quite  another 
matter.  The  end  —  this  is  the  part  of  the  definition 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    327 

which  is  so  hostile  to  the  system  of  Price ;  for  the  end 
of  an  action  is  the  object  to  which  it  tends.  The  end, 
therefore,  is  relative  to  the  act,  and  not  to  the  agent. 
And  yet  more ;  the  end  is  distinct  from  the  act ;  they 
are  two  separate  things.  If,  then,  an  action  can  be 
judged  only  by  its  relation  to  its  end,  this  end  must 
be  perceived  before  it  can  be  judged  ;  and  only  from 
the  nature  of  the  end  can  that  of  the  action  be  deter- 
mined; so  that  an  act  will  be  good  if  it  has  a 
certain  end,  and  bad  if  it  has  a  different  one.  Its 
goodness,  then,  is  its  relation  of  conformity  to  a 
certain  end ;  its  evil,  its  relation  of  conformity  to 
some  other  end.  The  goodness  of  actions  is  not, 
therefore,  the  only  goodness ;  there  is  also  a  goodness 
of  ends.  Yet  more ;  the  goodness  belongs  originally 
to  the  end,  and  not  to  the  action  ;  and  the  goodness 
of  the  action  is  merely  derived.  Again,  in  determin- 
ing that  there  are  good  ends,  we  obtain  a  definition 
of  that  which  is  good  in  itself;  and  as  the  goodness 
of  acts  is  their  conformity  to  good  ends,  we  obtain 
also  a  definition  of  this  moral  goodness,  or  of  the 
quality  assumed  to  be  indefinable,  by  which  actions 
are  constituted  good.  But  all  this  is  precisely  what 
the  system  of  Price  has  denied,  and  what  Price,  con- 
sistently with  his  system,  has  endeavored  to  disprove. 
Has  he  not  denied  the  distinction  between  absolute 
good  and  moral  good  ?  Has  he  not  affirmed  that 
there  is  no  good  except  in  actions  ?  Has  he  not 
said,  that  goodness  in  actions  is  a  simple  and  indefi- 
nable quality?  Has  he  not  maintained  that  it  does 
not  at  all  consist  in  the  relation  between  an  act  and  an 
end,  or  an  external  object  ?  Has  he  not  refused  to 


328  JOUFFROY. 

admit  any  of  the  definitions  which  have  been  offered 
of  this  end,  on  the  hypothesis  that  it  really  exists  1 
Has  he  not  refuted,  at  length,  all  these  definitions? 
And,  nevertheless,  his  own  definition  of  an  action 
reestablishes  all  that  he  has  overthrown.  In  making 
it,  he  denies  whatever  he  has  before  affirmed,  and  affirms 
whatever  he  has  before  denied.  Price  miy  choose, 
then,  between  his  definition  and  his  system  —  between 
his  whole  book  and  a  passage  in  it.  Both  cannot 
coexist ;  one  or  the  other  must  be  given  up. 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  definition  comprehends 
in  the  act,  in  addition  to  the  end,  the  circumstances 
of  its  agent  and  its  object.  And  Price  develops  his 
thought  in  saying,  if,  in  regard  to  a  particular  being, 
under  certain  circumstances,  I  ought  to  act  in  one 
way,  I  ought  to  act  in  another  way  under  other  cir- 
cumstances, and  in  regard  to  another  being.  This 
is  perfectly  intelligible,  gentlemen,  and  I  find  no  diffi- 
culty in  comprehending  it.  I  may  strike  a  tree 
because  it  is  a  tree,  and  I  am  a  man;  I  must  not 
strike  my  neighbor  because  he  is  also  a  man  ;  but 
I  may  strike  him  if  he  attacks  me,  for  then  his  cir- 
cumstances and  mine  are  changed.  This  is  as  much 
as  to  say,  that,  in  order  to  characterize  the  act,  I  must 
have  a  perception  of  my  nature  and  of  the  tree's ; 
of  my  nature  and  of  my  neighbor's :  of  the  relations 
between  myself  and  these  two  beings,  arising  from 
our  respective  natures,  and  of  all  the  facts  in  regard 
to  them  and  to  myself,  which  are  expressed  by  the 
vague  word  circumstan&is*  Is  this,  then,  what  this 
system  means  by  an  immediate  perception  of  a  simple 
and  indefinable  quality  in  an  action,  or  is  it  not  I 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    329 

If  it  is  not  what  it  means,  then  let  Price  withdraw  his 
definition  of  an  action;  if  it  is,  then  let  him  reconcile 
the  fact,  such  as  his  definition  describes  it,  with  the 
formula  in  which  he  expresses  his  system.  What 
terms  shall  we  make  use  of,  I  ask,  to  designate  the 
perception  of  solidity  in  bodies,  or  the  conception 
of  the  space  which  contains  them,  if  we  call  the  com- 
plicated process  which  this  definition  indicates  an 
immediate  perception,  and  the  moral  character  which 
results  from  this  process,  a  simple  and  indefinable 
quality  of  actions  ?  For  either  my  nature,  and  the 
tree's,  arid  my  neighbor's,  and  all  my  circumstances 
and  theirs,  do,  in  spite  of  language,  make  a  part 
of  the  action,  and  then  the  quality,  which  is  con- 
stituted by  the  relations  of  these  things  witn  each 
other,  is  not  simple,  and,  consequently,  not  indefi- 
nable ;  or  the  action  is  entirely  included  in  the  act 
of  striking  the  tree  or  the  man,  and,  then,  it  has 
no  quality,  either  simple  or  complex,  definable  or 
indefinable.  Accept  the  second  branch  of  the  di- 
lemma, and  there  is  no  perception  at  all,  for  there 
is  nothing  to  perceive.  Prefer  the  first,  and  there 
is  neither  an  immediate  perception,  nor  any  percep- 
tion of  a  quality  at  all ;  but,  first,  a  conception  of 
many  very  different  things,  then  a  view  of  the  re- 
lations between  them,  and,  lastly,  an  induction  from 
these  relations  to  the  action  ;  and  such  an  induction 
is  really  made,  inasmuch  as  the  appreciation  of  the 
action  implies  all  these  notions,  and,  consequently, 
s  derived  from  them.  By  either  hypothesis  the  sys- 
tem is  overthrown;  it  is  destroyed  by  the  definition; 
it  perishes  without  the  definition  ;  and  yet  more,  this 


339  JOUFFROY. 

definition  has  the  singular  merit  of  proving  that  it 
is  necessary  to  consider  the  nature  of  things  and 
the  relations  thence  derived,  in  order  to  appreciate 
the  morality  of  actions,  in  the  face  of  a  refuta- 
tion, called  out  by  the  system  of  Clarke,  which 
makes  the  goodness  of  actions  consist  in  their  con- 
formity to  the  relations  derived  from  the  nature  of 
things. 

And  now,  gentlemen,  I  ask  again,  Where  shall 
we  look  for  the  true  opinion  of  Price  1  If  it  is 
contained  in  his  definition  of  an  act,  it  is  there  only 
as  a  <rerm,  and  must  be  unfolded  and  developed. 
If  it  is  expressed  in  his  system,  we  must  strike  out 
the  definition ;  for  the  system  and  the  definition 
contradict  each  other,  and  we  know  not  how  to 
form  from  both  a  consistent  unity.  What  must  we 
do  in  such  a  case  of  embarrassment  ?  Let  us  leave 
Price  to  unravel  the  difficulty  as  he  can,  and  confine 
ourselves  to  drawing  from  his  definition  the  con- 
fession which  confirms  all  that  I  have  attempted, 
in  this  lecture,  to  demonstrate :  this  confession  is, 
that  the  two  propositions  on  which  are  founded  the 
class  of  systems  now  under  consideration  —  first,  that 
the  idea  of  good  represents  nothing  but  moral  good, 
and  secondly,  that  moral  good  is  a  simple  and  in- 
definable quality,  immediately  perceived  in  actions 
by  reason,  or  the  moral  sense,  which  two  propo- 
sitions are  intimately  connected,  and  form  a  true 
system — are  equally  untenable  and  irreconcilable 
with  facts. 

This,  gentlemen,  is  a  result  at  which  I  have 
wished  to  arrive,  in  pursuit  of  which  I  have  entered 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    3F    PRICE.    331 

into  this  long  exposition,  and  still  longer  criticism 
of  the  system  of  Price.  When  examining  systems 
far  removed  from  the  truth,  we  can  move  quickly; 
for  the  error  being  great,  we  can  soon  point  it  out 
and  refute  it ;  but  in  proportion  as  systems  approach 
the  truth,  the  error  becomes  more  subtile  and  diffi- 
cult of  detection.  We  have  already  remarked  this  dif- 
ference, in  passing  from  the  criticism  of  the  selfish 
system  to  that  of  the  instinctive  system.  In  passing 
from  the  instinctive  system  to  that  of  Price,  we  are 
made  more  sensible  of  it  still.  Indeed,  the  system 
of  Price  comes  so  near  to  the  truth,  that  it  wears 
more  of  its  aspect  and  distinguishing  features  than 
any  which  we  have  hitherto  met  with;  and,  there- 
fore, has  it  been  much  less  easy  to  unveil  its  dis- 
guise, arid  demonstrate  its  errors.  Still,  gentlemen, 
it  is  on  this  account  only  the  more  important  to 
determine  its  nature  precisely;  for,  in  so  doing, 
we  have  taken  a  new  step  in  the  investigation  in 
which  we  are  engaged. 

Moral  good  is  distinct  from  the  good  of  instinct, 
or  of  self-love ;  and  intuitive  reason  can  alone  reveal 
it.  This  is  what  our  criticism  of  the  instinctive 
and  selfish  systems  has  taught  us.  But,  among  the 
systems  which  admit  this  third  kind  of  good,  we 
have  seen  two  different  opinions  prevailing.  Some 
declare  moral  good  to  be  a  simple,  indefinable  quality, 
immediately  perceived  in  actions  by  reason  ;  others 
consider  it  as  a  relation  of  actions  to  absolute  good, 
and  limit  themselves  to  ascertaining  in  what  absolute 
good  consists.  Now,  it  is  impossible  that  we  should 
advance  further,  without  having  first  examined  and 


332  JOUFFROY. 

determined  which  of  these  two  opinions  represent  the 
truth.  This  is  what  we  have  attempted  to  do  in  the 
last  two  lectures.  We  have  examined  the  first  of 
these  opinions,  and  have  concluded,  not  only  that 
it  is  contradicted  by  facts,  but  also  that  these  same 
facts  declare  the  truth  of  the  second.  We  have 
made  a  step  in  advance  then.  Of  two  different  ways 
which  the  rational  systems  open  before  us,  we  have 
discovered  which  is  the  right  one.  It  only  remains 
that  we  pursue  it.  We  shall  here  meet  with  rational 
systems  of  the  second  category,  which,  recognizing 
beyond  moral  good  an  absolute  good,  have  sought 
to  discover  the  essential  character  of  the  latter,  and 

thus   decide    in    what   the     former   consists.      Recoor- 

& 

nizing,  as  these  systems  do,  both  the  distinct  exist- 
ence of  these  two  kinds  of  good,  and  the  necessity 
of  defining  the  one  in  order  that  we  may  determine 
the  other,  we  have  merely  to  inquire  what  definition 
they  give ;  for  this  is  the  only  point  which  remains 
to  be  settled.  We  will  review  their  opinions,  then, 
upon  this  final  question.  But  we  will  do  so  without 
attempting  to  criticise  them ;  for  it  is  plain  that  I 
should  then  be  carried  into  an  examination  of  the 
true  definition  of  absolute  good,  and  thus  be  led  into 
an  exposition  of  my  own  theory.  I  shall  limit  myself, 
therefore,  gentlemen,  to  a  rapid  sketch  of  the  princi- 
pal definitions  which  have  been  given  of  absolute 
good,  merely  making  a  few  hasty  reflections  on  these 
definitions,  which  having  done,  I  shall  drop  my  char- 
acter of  historian,  and,  assuming  that  of  the  philoso- 
pher, shall  set  before  you  my  ideas  upon  the  funda- 
mental questions  of  ethics.  Only  after  these  have 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CRITICISM    OF    PRICE.    333 

been  presented  to  your  attention,  shall  we  be  in  the 
situation  to  review  the  systems  which  have  given  a 
definition  of  absolute  good,  and  be  able  to  judge  of 
their  idea  in  the  li^ht  of  our  own.  To  the  criticism 

o 

of  these  systems  I  shall  devote  one,  and  only  one, 
lecture  more.1 

1  In  reviewing1,  after  several  months,  this  criticism  of  Price,  I 
do  not  find  it  strictly  accurate.  To  make  it  so,  however,  would 
demand  an  entire  reconstruction  of  these  two  lectures ;  and, 
therefore,  1  have  preferred  to  alter  nothing.  The  exposition 
of  my  ideas  on  the  fundamental  questions  of  ethics  will  correct 
whatever  has  now  been  left  incomplete 


334  JOUFFROY. 


LECTURE    XXIV. 


RATIONAL  SYSTEMS.  —  WOLL  ASTON.—  CLARKE  AND  MONTES. 
.  —  M  ALEBRANCHE.  —  WOLF. 


GENTLEMEN, 

I  ANNOUNCED  to  you  that  I  should  devote 
the  lecture  of  to-day  to  giving  an  account  of  some 
of  the  rational  systems  which  have  attempted  to  de- 
fine good.  I  now  proceed  to  fulfil  my  promise.  My 
exposition  and  criticism  of  these  systems  will  be 
rapid.  I  shall  limit  myself,  on  the  one  hand,  to 
pointing  out  the  idea  which  each  gives,  both  of  good 
in  itself,  and  of  the  derived  goodness  of  actions;  and, 
on  the  other,  to  an  indication  of  the  error  of  this 
twofold  definition.  A  thorough  criticism  of  these 
systems  I  postpone,  as  I  have  already  forewarned  you, 
until  I  shall  have  explained  the  fundamental  principles 
of  my  own  system. 

The  first  which  occurs  to  my  mind  is  that  of  Wol- 
laston,  an  English  philosopher,  who  lived  in  the 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  as  exhibited  in 
his  work  on  natural  religion.  In  a  few  words  I  will 
describe  its  essential  characteristics. 

According  to  this  philosopher,  good  is  truth  ;  and 
the  fundamental  law  of  conduct  —  the  duty  from  which 


THE  RATIONAL  SYSTEM. WOLLASTON.     335 

all  others  are  derived  —  is  to  act  conformably  to  the 
truth,  or,  in  other  words,  not  to  deceive  by  actions. 
How  does  Wollaston  proceed  to  establish  this  doc- 
trine ?  As  follows :  He  begins  with  the  assertion  that 
actions,  like  words,  are  signs,  arid  that  the  truth  may 
be  expressed  or  disguised,  affirmed  or  denied,  by 
actions  as  well  as  by  words.  To  establish  this  asser- 
tion, he  attempts,  first,  to  show  how  truth  may  be 
denied  in  actions.  What  is  it,  he  asks,  to  break  a 
contract  1  It  is  simply  to  affirm  by  an  action,  that 
it  is  not  true  that  the  contract  was  made.  What 
is  it  to  rob  a  traveller  1  It  is  to  deny  that  the  money 
which  is  taken  belonged  to  him.  Wollaston  multi- 
plies examples,  taking  care  always  to  select  bad  ac- 
tions, and  tracing  always  these  actions  to  some  nega- 
tion of  one  or  more  true  propositions.  This  being 
done,  and  having  thus  demonstrated  that  truth  may 
be  contradicted  by  actions,  he  asks  whether  an  act 
which  denies  one  or  more  true  propositions  can  be 
good.  He  maintains  that  it  must  necessarily  be  bad. 
The  proofs  which  he  gives  are  curious,  from  the  fact 
that  each  one  of  them  consists  in  showing  absolute 
good  under  one  of  its  aspects,  and  in  making  it 
appear  that  there  is  a  contradiction  between  falsehood 
and  good  thus  conceived.  The  proofs  are  as  follows : 
first,  an  action  which  denies  a  true  proposition,  is 
equivalent  to  a  false  proposition.  Now,  a  false  propo- 
sition is  bad  ;  therefore,  the  action  which  is  equivalent 
to  it  cannot  be  good.  Secondly,  an  action  which  denies 
a  true  proposition  denies  the  nature  of  things,  and, 
consequently,  is  contrary  to  it.  Now,  is  it  not  evi- 
dent that  an  action  which  is  contrary  to  the  nature 


336  JOUFFROY. 

of  things  is  bad  ?  Thirdly,  an  action  which  denies  a 
true  proposition  denies  that  which  actually  is.  ,  Such 
an  action,  therefore,  is  a  revolt  against  God,  the 
author  of  being,  and  against  his  will.  Fourthly,  it  is, 
yet  more,  a  revolt  against  order ;  for  what  is  order 
except  the  laws  of  things  arising  from  their  nature  ? 
Fifthly,  it  is  also  a  revolt  against  reason.  To  deny  a 
true  proposition  is  to  affirm  what  is  absurd  ;  and  what 
is  the  affirmation  of  an  absurdity,  except  a  revolt 
against  reason  ?  Sixthly,  such  an  action  is  contrary  to 
the  nature  of  man  ;  for  man  is  a  rational  being,  and 
the  peculiarity  of  rational  natures  is  to  see  and  love 
things  as  they  are. 

After  having  thus  demonstrated  that  an  action 
which  denies  one  or  more  true  propositions  is  bad, 
Wollaston  goes  one  step  further,  and  proves  that  a 
true  proposition  may  be  denied  by  omission  as  well 
as  by  commission ;  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same 
thing,  that  the  omission  is  quite  as  much  a  sign  as 
the  action,  and  that  we  may  affirm  what  is  false,  as 
well  by  the  former  of  these  signs  as  by  the  latter. 
And  he  has  no  difficulty  in  proving  this ;  for  it  is 
evident,  for  example,  that,  in  not  doing  what  we  prom- 
ise, we  deny  that  it  has  been  promised,  as  much  as 
if  we  did  something  contrary  to  that  promise.  It 
would  not  be  worth  while  to  follow  the  author  into 
the  details  of  this  proof. 

You  see,  gentlemen,  that  his  efforts  are  limited  to 
establishing  the  essential  nature  of  evil.  But  as  evil 
is  contrary  to  good,  if  the  nature  of  the  one  is  deter- 
mined, that  of  the  other  follows  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  the  nature  of  what  is  neither  good  nor  bad 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. WOLLASTON.  337 

equally.  What,  then,  is  a  good  action  1  It  is  one 
whose  omission  would  be  bad,  or  whose  opposite  would 
be  a  bad  action.  What,  in  the  second  place,  is  an  in- 
different action  ?  It  is  one  which  may  be  done  or  omit- 
ted, without  contradicting  the  truth.  So  that  from 
the  principle  of  his  system  is  derived  the  essence  of 
that  which  is  good,  of  that  which  is  bad,  and  of  that 
which  is  indifferent  in  conduct ;  or,  in  other  words,  a 
solution  of  the  fundamental  problem  of  morality. 

Wollaston,  having  thus  established  his  doctrine, 
attempts  to  confirm  it  by  showing  that  it  is  in  harmony 
with  facts.  He  shows,  for  example,  that  it  is  in  har- 
mony with  the  fact  of  a  progressive  development  of 
moral  ideas.  In  fact,  if  science  is  progressive,  moral- 
ity must  be  so  too  ;  for,  as  morality  is  nothing  more 
than  truth  expressed  in  conduct,  it  presupposes  a 
knowledge  of  truth  ;  and  in  proportion  as  this  knowl- 
edge, which  is  science,  increases,  morality  must  be- 
come more  perfect.  Hence  an  explanation  of  errors 
in  morality,  and  of  the  difference  recognized  by 
common  sense  between  mistakes  and  crimes.  If  we 
can  be  deceived  in  questions  of  morals,  it  is  because 
we  may  be  so  deceived  in  science,  that  things  will 
not  be  seen  as  they  are.  To  make  a  mistake  in 
moral  conduct,  is  to  affirm  in  action  a  proposition 
which  is  false,  though  believed  to  be  true.  The  action 
is  bad,  but  the  agent  is  not  culpable,  because  he  does 
not  wilfully  deceive.  Wollaston  shows  further,  that 
his  doctrine,  far  from  altering  the  commonly  re- 
cognized qualities  of  good,  explains  them.  Thus 
truth,  being  immutable,  because  expressing  the  very 
nature  of  things,  good  is  so  too.  Thus,  there  being 
VOL.  n.  D  D 


33S  JOUFFROY. 

an  eternal  and  real  distinction  between  truth  and 
falsehood,  the  like  distinction  separates  good  and  evii. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  truth  may  be  said  equally 
of  good,  and  the  foundations  of  morality  are  as  im- 
pregnable as  those  of  science. 

Such,  gentlemen,  is,  in  substance,  the  system  of 
Wollaston.  A  few  observations  will  be  sufficient  to 
show  that  it  is  incorrect ;  and  first,  let  it  be  remarked, 
that,  in  adopting  the  principle  of  Wollaston,  in  the 
appreciation  of  actions,  we  must  come  to  judgments 
which  do  not  coincide  materially  with  moral  judg- 
ments. There  is  no  bad  action  which  does  not  ex- 
press, equally  with  a  good  one,  many  true  propositions. 
For  example,  if  I  poison  any  one  with  arsenic,  I 
assuredly  commit  a  crime ;  and,  nevertheless,  this 
action  is  conformed  to  many  true  propositions,  and 
among  others  to  this,  that  it  is  the  property  of  arsenic 
to  poison.  The  fundamental  maxim  of  Wollaston, 
therefore,  is  too  comprehensive,  and  confounds  evil 
with  good.  In  the  second  place,  there  are  many 
truths  which  it  is  morally  indifferent  whether  we  af- 
firm or  deny  by  actions.  For  instance,  two  men  are 
cold  ;  one,  to  warm  himself,  draws  near  the  fire,  and 
the  other  to  some  ice.  The  actioTi  of  the  former 
affirms  a  true  proposition,  namely,  that  fire  has  the 
property  of  communicating  warmth.  This  the  act 
of  the  second,  on  the  other  hand,  denies.  What 
follows?  Simply  that  his  conduct  is  absurd,  but  not 
*hat  it  is  immoral.  The  action  of  the  one  is  rea- 
sonable, and  that  of  the  other  foolish ;  but  this  is 
all.  There  is  nothing  moral  in  the  action  of  the  one, 
nor  immoral  in  that  of  the  other.  Absurdity  and 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  WOLLASTON.  339 

immorality  are  not  coincident,  and  one  should  not  be 
substituted  for  the  other,  in  an  attempt  to  explain  the 
fundamental  principle  of  ethics.  In  the  third  place, 
it  follows,  from  the  maxim  of  Wollaston,  that,  when 
we  meet  a  traveller  in  a  wood,  it  is  equally  a  crime 
to  maintain  that  his  purse  does  not  belong  to  him, 
as  to  take  it,  for  in  either  case  we  equally  deny  the 
same  true  proposition.  This  is  ridiculous,  and  shows 
still  more  clearly  how  different  absurdity  is  fro*n 
immorality.  And  lastly,  I  affirm  that  this  hypothesis 
would  destroy  all  inequality  among  virtues;  for  if 
morality  consists  in  not  denying  a  true  proposition, 
then  all  good  actions  are  equally  good,  and  no  differ- 
ence can  be  discovered  between  them. 

But,  yet  further,  this  fundamental  maxim  is  not 
coincident  with  psychological  phenomena.  Such  a 
maxim  must  not  only  explain  the  moral  judgments 
of  humanity,  but  consciousness  must  also  testify  that 
we  are  really  governed  by  this  principle  in  our  ac- 
tions. Now,  I  ask,  when  I  refrain  from  robbing  a 
person,  is  my  motive  the  fear  of  denying  a  true  prop- 
osition ?  Assuredly  not ;  and  it  is  quite  plain  that  I 
do  not  think  at  all  of  the  various  truths  which  my 
action  affirms  or  denies.  The  maxim  of  Wollaston, 
therefore,  is  no  less  contradicted  by  consciousness 
than  by  the  moral  judgments  of  mankind. 

I  pass,  now,  gentlemen,  to  the  consideration  of  a 
second  system,  more  famous  than  this  of  Wollaston  — 
a  system  which  was  that  of  Montesquieu,  but  which 
previously  had  been  taught  by  that  friend  of  Newton, 
and  adversary  of  Leibnitz,  the  celebrated  Clarke. 
The  principle  of  this  system  is,  that  good  actions 


340  JOUFFROY. 

are  those  which  are  conformable  to  the  nature  of 
things.  Clarke  thus  describes  his  idea,  in  a  treatise 
on  the  existence  of  God,  and  the  laws  of  the  moral 
nature.  The  author  sets  out  from  an  examination 
of  the  essential  nature  of  obligation;  but,  as  obligation 
is  founded  upon  the  idea  of  good,  to  discover  this 
foundation  and  to  give  a  definition  of  good  are  the 
same  thing.  And  Clarke  expressed  this  question 
under  the  former-of  these  two  modes  rather  than  the 
latter,  only  because  his  efforts  were  directed  against 
the  system  of  Hobbes,  whose  works  had  created,  at 
that  time,  a  great  sensation,  and  were  producing 
disastrous  effects  on  morality.  You  are  aware  that 
this  philosopher  asserted  that  selfishness  is  the  foun- 
dation of  duty  ;  and  Clarke,  therefore,  began,  in  his 
efforts  to  overturn  this  foundation,  by  refuting  the 
principle  of  selfishness  under  every  possible  form 
which  it  can  assume.  He  shows  that  we  do  what 
is  right,  and  seek  good  in  actions,  neither  to  obey 
the  will  of  God,  nor  to  secure  the  recompenses  arid 
avoid  the  sufferings  of  another  life;  nor  to  advance 
our  own  private  good ;  nor  with  a  view  to  social 
utility;  nor  in  obedience  to  a  primitive  contract 
between  men,  in  the  origin  of  society ;  nor  from 
regard  to  laws  and  the  will  of  legislators.  It  would 
be  useless  to  review,  at  this  time,  all  these  pretended 
foundations  for  the  sentiment  of  obligation  ;  for  we 
have  already  considered  them.  It  is  sufficient  to 
remark  that  Clarke  rejects  them  all. 

As  obligation  is  founded  on  none  of  these  maxims, 
Clarke  seeks  for  its  true  foundation,  and  his  system 
is  as  follows :  —  God,  in  creating  things,  gave  to  them 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. CLARKE.  341 

all  peculiar  natures,  and,  in  virtue  of  these  natures, 
established  relations  which  unite  them,  and  which, 
taken  together,  make  up  the  universe.  The  creation 
is,  then,  only  a  collection  of  different  beings,  united 
together  by  relations  derived  from  their  respective 
natures.  Now,  as  nature,  or  the  essence  of  things, 
is  real  and  immutable,  and  as  the  essence  of  things 
produces  the  relations  which  unite  them,  these  rela- 
tions are  as  real  and  immutable  as  things  themselves, 
or  as  their  essence.  These  relations,  says  Clarke, 
constitute  universal  order.  Reason  conceives  these 
different  relations.  It  conceives  that  they  constitute 
the  laws  of  things,  and  hence  immediately  concludes 
that  they  should  be  respected  by  every  free  and  rational 
being.  Hence,  for  every  being  who  is  capable  of 
comprehending  them,  arises  an  obligation  to  regulate 
his  conduct  conformably  to  his  relations.  When  con- 
duct or  actions  are  conformed  to  these  relations,  they 
are  good  ;  in  the  opposite  case,  they  are  bad.  Such 
is  the  definition  of  moral  good,  as  derived  from  the 
idea  of  good  in  itself —  of  absolute  good.  And 
you  readily  see  that,  as  this  latter  is  immutable,  since 
the  relations  of  things  are  derived  from  their  nature, 
which  is  immutable,  moral  good  must  be  so  too, 
because  consisting  in  a  conformity  of  conduct  to 
these  relations.  Obligation,  according  to  Clarke,  is 
derived  immediately  from  the  conception  of  good, 
that  is  to  say,  of  order.  And  it  is  derived  from  this 
immediately,  on  account  of  the  agreement  between 
order  and  reason.  It  is  essential  to  reason  to  respect 
order,  as  soon  as  the  idea  of  it  is  conceived,  order 
ueing  its  law.  Hence,  gentlemen,  arise  all  duties, 

D  D  2 


342  JOUFFROY. 

and  the  manner  of  determining  what  they  are  Whence, 
asks  Clarke,  are  derived  our  different  duties  ?  and  what 
is  our  mode  of  determining  them  ?  Suppose  that  we 
were  ignorant  of  our  own  nature  and  of  the  nature 
of  God  —  that  God  and  man,  in  other  words,  were 
both  unknown;  —  could  we  tell  what  duties  man  owes 
to  God,  or  even  that  he  owes  any  ?  We  could  not. 
But  suppose  that  the  nature  of  man,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  that  of  God,  on  the  other,  are  known ;  then,  at 
once,  we  perceive  the  necessary  relations  which 
are  derived  from  these  two  natures.  We  see  imme- 
diately that  one  of  these  beings  owes  duties,  and  that 
the  other  is  the  object  to  whom  he  owes  them;  and 
we  recognize  the  kind  of  duties  which  are  owed. 
In  a  word,  we  discover  that  the  rule  of  our  conduct 
towards  God  arises  from  the  established  relations 
between  his  nature  and  ours. 

Again;  bring  two  men  together,  and  inquire  what 
relations  exist  between  two  beings  of  separate  though 
equal  and  identical  natures,  and  we  shall  see  that,  if  our 
duties  to  our  fellow-beings  are  different  from  those 
which  we  owe  to  God,  it  is  because  the  relations  be- 
tween man  and  man  are  different  from  those  between 
man  and  God  ;  and  we  shall  find  that,  as  the  duties  of 
man  towards  God  arise  from  respect  to  the  latter,  so 
the  duties  of  man  towards  man  arise  from  a  respect 
for  the  former.  And  Clarke,  like  all  other  philoso- 
phers who  define  good,  hastens  to  show  that  this 
definition  of  good  agrees  with  the  progress  of  moral 
ideas,  and  explains  it.  Originally,  he  says,  we  know 
neither  the  nature  of  beings,  nor  the  relations  thence 
arising.  There  is,  therefore,  a  science,  whose  object 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. MONTESQUIEU.          343 

it  is  to  determine  these  relations,  and  which  —  as, 
like  all  other  sciences,  it  has  a  beginning  and  an 
end  —  is  susceptible  of  development.  Now,  as  moral- 
ity presupposes  this  science,  morality  must  follow 
its  progress,  and  advance  with  civilization.  Such, 
in  a  few  words,  are  the  main  arguments  of  Clarke, 
and  the  fundamental  ideas  of  his  system. 

Montesquieu,  whom  I  have  classed  with  Clarke, 
had  precisely  the  same  idea  of  good.  He  explains 
his  system  in  the  first  words  of  his  work  entitled 
L' Esprit  des  Lois,  in  saying,  "  Laws  are  the  necessary 
relations  which  are  derived  from  the  nature  of  things." 
By  laws  he  means  the- rule  of  what  is  good.  And 
he  proves  that,  by  necessary  relations,  he  understands, 
as  Clarke  does,  those  which  are  necessarily  derived 
from  the  nature  of  things,  by  saying,  in  addition, 
"  Before  intelligent  beings  actually  existed,  they  were 
yet  possible  ;  there  were,  therefore,  possible  relations 
between  them,  and,  consequently,  possible  laws." 
Montesquieu  goes  further,  and  shows  —  which  is  also 
in  fact  the  view  of  Clarke  —  that  these  relations  are 
not  an  arbitrary  act  of  God,  in  this  third  passage 
of  the  same  chapter  —  "God  has  made  laws,  because 
they  had  certain  relations  to  his  wisdom  and  power;" 
which  amounts  to  saying  that  these  laws  themselves, 
or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  the  nature  of  different 
beings,  and  the  relations  thence  derived,  are  not 
dependent  even  upon  the  will  of  God,  who  created 
them ;  and  the  cause  of  this  is,  that,  being  the  works 
of  God,  the  reason  for  them  exists  in  him,  and  the 
reason  of  what  God  has  made,  cannot  be  distinguished 

'  O 

from  his  nature,  which  is  necessary  and  eternal.     The 


344  JOUFFROY. 

nature  of  God  is,  in  fact,  the  only  truly  absolute, 
necessary,  eternal  existence ;  and  to  it,  in  the  last 
analysis,  must  be  referred  the  immutability  and  neces- 
sity of  whatever  is  necessary  and  immutable.  If  ab- 
solute good,  then,  is  necessary  and  immutable,  it  is 
because  the  reality  represented  by  this  word  is  nothing 
else  than  the  nature  of  God  himself,  or  a  manifestation 
and  necessary  effect  of  this  nature.  Thus,  in  the 
hypothesis  of  Clarke  and  Montesquieu,  good  would 
seem  to  be  arbitrary,  if  things  and  their  relations 
were  the  effects  of  the  arbitrary*  will  of  God,  and 
if  we  conceived  that  this  will  could  give  to  things 
another  nature,  from  which  might  result  other  rela- 
tions. This  is  what  these  two  philosophers  have 
thought,  and  what  Montesquieu  has  expressed  in  the 
last  sentence  quoted.  And  the  defect  of  the  system 
is  already  indicated  in  the  difficulty  felt  by  all  in 
admitting  that  the  beings  peopling  creation  are  all 
exactly  such  as  they  could  not  but  be,  and  that  God 
could  have  created  neither  more  nor  less  than  these, 
nor  any  differing  from  them.  But  this  is  not  the 
place  to  discuss  this  great  difficulty,  which,  as  you 
will  hereafter  see,  the  true  idea  of  good  fully  satisfies. 
It  is  sufficient  to  have  shown  you,  by  these  three 
quotations  from  Montesquieu,  that  his  doctrine  is 
entirely  the  same  with  that  of  Clarke.  I  will  now 
submit  to  your  attention  some  observations  in  regard 
to  this  system,  which,  as  you  will  remark,  are  entirely 
identical  with  those  already  made  upon  the  system 
of  Wollaston. 

Between  judgments   based   upon    this    fundamental 
maxim  —  "Act  conformably  to  the  nature  of  things'"— 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. MONTESQUIEU.         345 

and  moral  judgments,  there  is  the  same  want  of  mate- 
rial coincidence  as  between  moral  judgments  and 
those  which  arise  from  the  definition  of  Wollaston. 
In  the  first  place,  it  is  evident  that  every  act,  which 
is  not  wholly  absurd,  is  conformed  to  many  of  the 
existent  relations  of  things ;  and  I  adopt  for  illus- 
tration the  example,  already  used,  of  poisoning  by 
arsenic.  Assuredly,  this  act  is  conformable  to  the 
nature  of  man,  to  that  of  arsenic,  and  to  the  relations 
between  the  two ;  this  cannot  be  denied.  Clarke's 
maxim,  therefore,  gentlemen,  like  Wollaston's,  is  too 
comprehensive.  I  allow  that  a  good  act  is  never 
a  falsehood,  but  is  always  in  harmony  with  truth ; 
I  allow,  also,  that  it  is  conformable  to  the  relations 
which  arise  from  the  nature  of  things;  but  the  illus- 
tration shows  that  there  are  only  some  particular 
relations  to  which  our  conduct  ought  to  correspond, 
and  only  certain  true  propositions,  which  we  are 
bound  to  express  by  our  acts.  What  are  these  rela- 
tions and  propositions  ?  and  why  are  they  to  be 
selected  and  preferred  ?  These  are  questions  which 
neither  of  these  systems  answers ;  which  fact  clearly 
proves  that  Clarke  and  Wollaston  have  not  accurately 
conceived  the  idea  of  good,  but  other  ideas,  which, 
though  related,  perhaps,  to  this  idea,  are  yet  not 
identical  with  it ;  for,  if  they  had  disengaged  the 
true  idea,  our  moral  judgments,  and  our  moral  judg- 
ments only,  would  have  at  once  proceeded  from  the 
definition.  But  I  go  further,  gentlemen,  and  say, 
that,  if  there  are  relations  between  things  with  which 
it  is  wrong  to  act  in  conformity,  there  are  also  many 
relations,  in  regard  to  which  it  is  a  matter  of  perfect 


3  JO 


JOUFFROY. 


indifference  whether  we  act  in  conformity  or  not 
Thus,  to  use  again  an  illustration  already  employed, 
it  is  acting  conformably  to  the  nature  of  things  to 
refresh  ourselves  with  ice,  and  warm  ourselves  with 
fire.  But,  as  such  conduct  is  only  reasonable,  and 
not  virtuous,  so  its  opposite  is  not  criminal,  but  only 
foolish.  Clarke  says  that  it  is  the  essence  of  reason 
to  respect  order  ;  that  is,  to  use  the  language  of  his 
system,  the  relations  derived  from  the  nature  of  things. 
This  is  true ;  but  in  what  sense  ?  In  the  sense  that 
reason  cannot,  without  abdicating  its  office,  fail  to 
recognize  these  relations;  for,  since  they  exist,  it  is 
absurd  and  contrary  to  reason,  whose  law  is  truth, 
to  deny  them.  But  does  it  follow,  because  these 
relations  constitute  truth,  that  they  also  constitute 
good,  and  are  the  law  of  reason,  in  such  a  sense 
that  reason  feels  itself  morally  obliged  to  respect 
them  in  action  ?  This  is  by  no  means  what  facts 
prove.  We  are  in  error,  and  act  without  conformity 
to  the  nature  of  things,  when  we  attempt  to  warm 
ourselves  with  ice;  but  such  conduct  is  not  immoral; 
the  two  spheres  of  absurdity  and  immorality  do  not 
coincide.  This  defect  of  Clarke's  system  is  confirmed 
by  the  fact  that  the  psychological  coincidence  is 
equally  wanting  with  the  external  coincidence.  Un- 
doubtedly, we  are  obliged,  in  many  cases,  before  we 
can  determine  what  we  ought  to  do,  to  consider  both 
our  own  nature  and  the  nature  of  other  beings,  and 

o    ' 

the  relations  existino-  between   us.      But  observe,  we 

O  5 

do  this  for  the  purpose  of  determining  another  fact, 
which  is  a  knowledge  of  what  is  good  and  of  what 
we  ought  to  do.  And,  unless  we  are  led  to  some 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTE 


—  MALEBRANCHE.         347 


decision  upon  this  point,  our  inquiries  fail  to  com- 
municate the  light  we  seek;  moreover,  we  do  not 
need,  for  this  end,  to  know  all  the  relations  which 
arise  from  the  nature  of  things,  but  only  certain 
relations.  So  that,  though  consciousness,  when  im- 
perfectly examined,  may  seem  to  give  some  appearance 
of  truth  to  Clarke's  definition,  it  entirely  contradicts 
it,  when  more  faithfully  consulted. 

I  pass  now,  gentlemen,  to  a  third  system  —  that 
of  Malebranche.  Connected  as  the  moral  ideas  of 
this  philosopher  are  with  those  of  his  metaphysics, 
you  will  be  unable  to  comprehend  the  former  without 
at  least  a  superficial  acquaintance  with  the  latter. 

You  have  all  probably  heard  repeated  that  funda- 
mental maxim  of  Malebranche  —  "We  see  all  things 

o 

In  God."  What  is  the  import  of  this  maxim  ?  I 
will  tell  you,  in  a  few  words. 

Malebranche  admitted,  what  was  considered  estab- 
lished by  the  philosophers  who  preceded  him,  that 
we  see,  not  things  themselves,  but  the  ideas  of  these 
things,  in  our  own  minds.  Starting  with  this  opinion, 
Malebranche  did  riot  allow,  because  we  had  the  idea 
of  a  tree,  that  a  tree  therefore  existed.  He  granted 
oii  y,  that,  as  the  idea  of  the  tree  is  not  produced 
by  the  effort  of  our  own  minds,  it  must  have  some 
originating  cause  distinct  from  ourselves.  This  cause 
he  sought  to  discover;  and,  reviewing  successively 
the  various  theories  which  had  been  suggested  —  that 
these  ideas  are  produced  in  us  by  objects  —  that  they 
are  innate  —  that  God  creates  them  in  our  minds  — 
and,  finally,  that  our  souls  are  united  with  the  divine 
intelligence  which  includes  the  ideas  of  all  possible 


348  JOUFFROY. 

beings,  and  that  we  see  these  ideas  as  there  existing  — 
he  believed  it  to  be  susceptible  of  demonstration  that 
this  last  supposition  is  alone  admissible.  He  laid  it 
down,  therefore,  as  a  principle,  that,  excepting  the 
ideas  of  what  passes  within  us,  we  see  all  other 

ideas   in  God,  who  is  the  essence  of  the  intelligible 

'  » 

world,  and  with  whom  our  intelligence  is  in  perpetual 
communion.  Such  is  the  meaning  of  the  celebrated 
maxim  of  Malebranche,  that  "  we  see  all  things  in 
God." 

It  follows,  from  this  doctrine,  that,  as*  all  individual 
intelligences  can  see,  in  God,  the  ideas  which  each 
intelligence  sees  there,  ideas  are  not  peculiar  to  any, 
but  common  to  all,  and  belong  to  God  alone.  Each 
individual  possesses,  therefore,  first,  the  idea  of  him- 
self, which  is  peculiar  to  him,  and  then  ideas  of  all 
other  existences,  which,  being  in  God,  where  they 
are  seen,  are  a  portion  of  absolute  truth,  belong 
only  to  God,  and  are  common  to  all  individuals  who 
perceive  them.  Malebranche  finds,  as  he  thinks,  in 
facts,  a  strong  confirmation  of  this  theory.  No  one, 
beside  myself,  can  feel  the  pain  that  I  feel ;  pain, 
then,  emanates  from  me,  and  is  wholly  personal.  But 
every  intelligent  being  can  see  the  truth  that  I  see ; 
this  truth,  then,  emanates  neither  from  them  nor  from 
me ;  and  yet  it  must  emanate  from  some  intelligence ; 
this  can  be  only  God,  to  whom,  therefore,  it  belongs. 
Reason,  therefore,  or  the  aggregate  of  truths,  is  con- 
substantial  with  God;  and,  as  we  are  rational  only 
by  partaking  of  reason,  this  reason  is  appropriate 
not  to  us,  but  to  him ;  if  it  belonged  to  us,  we  should 
be  entirely  and  perfectly  reasonable,  which  we  are 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. MALEBRANCHE.        349 

not ;  we  see  only  a  portion  of  truth,  because  we  see 
only  a  portion  of  the  ideas  which  are  in  God ;  and 
therefore  are  we  imperfect  and  infinitely  beneath 
him. 

Such,  gentlemen,  are  some  of  Malebranche's  meta- 
physical ideas.  The  moral  consequences  which  he 
deduces  from  them  are  as  follows:  — 

When  I  perceive  a  truth,  it  is  certain  that  God 
perceives  it  too ;  for  he  perceives  all  truth.  Conse- 
quently, what  T  think  is  a  portion  of  what  God  thinks ; 
in  other  \vor.ds,  there  is  a  communion  between  God 
and  me,  in  the  perception  of  truth.  As  God  perceives 
with  perfect  clearness  all  truth,  and  all  ideas,  I  cannot 
think  all  that  he  thinks,  nor  know  all  that  he  knows ; 
but,  as  what  I  do  think  and  know  constitute  a  portion 
of  truth,  God  thinks  it,  God  knows  it.  I  know,  then, 
a  part  of  what  God  knows,  and  think  in  part  as  he 
thinks. 

Now,  two  kinds  of  relations  exist  between  ideas ; 
first,  relations  of  agreement  and  disagreement,  which 
constitute  speculative  truths,  and  do  not  concern 
morality ;  secondly,  relations  of  perfection,  which 
alone  do  concern  it.  For  example,  the  idea  of  man 
seems  to  me  to  contain  more  perfection  than  the  idea 
of  an  animal ;  the  idea  of  an  animal  more  than  that 
of  a  plant ;  and  the  idea  of  a  plant  more  than  that 
of  a  stone.  From  these  relations  of  perfection,  I 
am  led  to  love  and  esteem  most  that  which  is  most 
perfect ;  in  other  words,  to  these  inequalities  of  per- 
fection correspond  in  me  different  degrees  of  esteem 
and  love,  which  seem  to  be  their  necessary  conse- 
quences. But  how  do  I  perceive  these  relations  of 

VOL,    If.  E  E 


353  JOUFFROY. 

perfection?  I  see  them  in  God.  God,  then,  per- 
ceives them  as  I  do ;  and  they  excite  in  him  the 
same  inequalities  of  love  which  I  experience.  But 
God,  says  Malebranche,  can  have  but  one  kind  of 
love  —  love  for  himself;  God  loves  himself  unchange- 
ably ;  he  can  have,  therefore,  he  adds,  but  one  motive 
for  action  —  self-love.  God  is  all  perfection,  however, 
so  that  the  love  of  himself  is  only  the  love  of  per- 
fection. Now,  what  are  the  ideas  of  different  beings 
which  exist  in  him,  and  these  different  beings  them- 
selves, if  it  is  supposed  that  he  has,  in  creating  them, 
realized  these  ideas  ?  They  are  emanations  from 
himself;  and  it  is  because  they  are  such  emanations, 
that  they  have  their  different  degrees  of  perfection. 
In  loving  them,  therefore,  God  still  loves  himself, 
and  loves  perfection.  But  this  love  must  necessarily 
be  proportioned  to  the  degree  of  perfection  ;  hence 
the  love  of  God  varies  with  the  degree  of  perfection 
manifested  in  the  ideas  of  these  different  beings,  and 
realized  in  them,  if  they  exist.  His  conduct  must 
be  governed  by  the  same  law,  as  his  only  motive 
is  love.  If  it  is  supposed,  therefore,  that  God  has 
in  part  realized  his  ideas,  he  will  act  in  relation 
to  the  beings  thus  produced,  proportionally  to  the 
love  which  they  inspire,  that  is  to  say,  proportionally 
to  their  degree  of  perfection.  And  now  what  follows  ? 
It  follows,  that,  whenever,  in  loving  things,  our  love 
is  proportioned  to  their  degree  of  perfection,  our  love 
is  in  a  communion  with  God's  love,  and  that,  when- 
ever our  conduct  is  regulated  by  such  a  love,  we 
act  in  communion  with  him,  that  is  to  say,  according 
to  his  law,  which  is  the  law  of  reason  and  of  truth. 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. MALEBRANCHE.         351 

As  we  can  think  and  know  the  truth  with  God, 
so  can  we  love  and  act  with  him,  if  we  take  for 
our  rule  the  relations  of  perfection  in  things,  which 
is  the  true  law  of  love  and  conduct.  These  relations 
of  perfection  constitute  order.  To  love,  according 
to  these  relations,  is  to  love  order,  and  to  be  in  con- 
formity with  it.  Whence  you  see,  that  the  love  of 
virtue  is  only  a  respect  for  order.  Its  motive,  then, 
is  the  love  of  perfection  ;  its  proper  object  is  God, 
who  is  perfection  itself,  and  the -source  of  all  that 
is  found  in  beings ;  and  whatever  being,  therefore, 
we  love,  if  our  love  is  directed  to  the  perfection  which 
is  in  it,  we  love  riot  only  with  God,  but  we  love, 
as  he  does,  himself. 

And,  gentlemen,  if  we  actually  learn  thus  to  pro- 
portion our  love,  and  to  regulate  our  conduct  by  the 
degrees  of  perfections  in  things,  what  is  the  effect 
upon  ourselves?  It  is,  that  we  not  only  love  and 
act  in  communion  with  God,  but  also  become  more 
perfect;  for,  as  our  perfection  consists  in  our  likeness 
to  God,  the  more  we  love  him  and  act  with  him, 
the  more  do  we  resemble  him,  and  so  become  perfect; 
Now,  the  more  perfect  we  are,  the  more  will  God 
love  us  ;  for,  as  it  is  his  necessary  law  to  love  himself, 
it  must  also  be  his  law  to  love  every  thing  in  pro- 
portion to  its  degree  of  perfection  and  likeness  to 
himself.  But  his  conduct  is  not  less  necessarily  reg- 
ulated by  his  love,  than  his  love  is  by  degrees  of 
perfection.  The  more,  then,  we  follow  the  law  of 
order,  the  happier  will  God  render  us ;  and  thus  will 
virtue  produce  happiness,  and  this  not  only  in  another 
life,  but  here  and  now,  inevitably.  For  God  cannot 


352  JOUFFROY. 

alter  the  laws  of  his  own  conduct ;  he  is  irresistibly 
impelled  to  govern  his  acts  by  the  degree  of  a  being's 
perfections ;  and,  as  our  perfection  results  immedi- 
ately from  our  virtue,  happiness  must  result  from  it 
equally. 

Such,  gentlemen,  in  a  few  words,  and  in  a  mode 
of  description  quite  unworthy  of  this  great  philoso- 
phy, is  Malebranche's  theory,  as  to  the  nature  of 
good. 

The  defect  of  this  system  is  not  its  want  of  exact- 
ness; for  it  would  be  easy,  by  a  slight  change  of 
form,  to  resolve  it  into  the  very  system  which  I  shall 
hereafter  present  to  you.  Its  defect  is,  rather  that 
it  leaves  the  idea  of  order,  into  which  it  resolves  the 
idea  of  moral  good,  extremely  vague,  by  leaving  in 
vagueness  the  idea  of  perfection,  into  which  it  re- 
solves the  idea  of  absolute  good.  Its  defect,  in  other 
words,  is,  that  it  gives  a  definition  of  good  which  is 
so  metaphysical  and  profound,  that  when,  after  hearing 
the  definition,  we  attempt  to  settle  what  is  meant  by 
good  and  evil,  and  the  way,  accordingly,  in  which  we 
should  conduct  ourselves,  we  are  much  embarrassed 
to  discover  the  reality  which  these  words  denote. 
Thus  it  is  only  with  great  difficulty  that  Malebranche 
succeeds  in  deducing  from  his  principle  our  duties 
to  ourselves,  to  God,  and  to  our  fellow-beings.  And, 
after  all,  he  does  not  so  much  describe  precise  duties, 
as  give  general  directions,  which  are  characterized  by 
like  uncertainty  and  vagueness  with  his  fundamental 
maxim.  This  vagueness,  in  which  the  idea  of  good 
is  left,  by  Malebranche,  seems  to  me  to  result  from 
the  fact  that  his  morality  is  only  his  metaphysics, 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. WOLF.  ddO 

presented  under  another  aspect.  Undoubtedly,  the 
moral  idea  is  only  one  side  of  the  idea  of  God ;  and 
so  long  as  this  latter  is  undetermined,  the  former  must 
be  so  too.  But  as  many  moralists,  beginning  with 
man,  have  failed  in  attaining  the  true  idea  of  morality, 
because  they  had  not  the  idea  of  God,  so  metaphysi- 
cians may  equally  fail,  from  wanting  the  idea  of  man. 
This,  as  it  seems  to  me,  was  the  case  with  Male- 
branche;  and  I  cannot  but  think,  that  if,  after  having 
established  his  metaphysical  theory,  he  had,  instead 
of  rigidly  applying  it,  paid  some  attention  to  what 
observation  reveals  in  man,  the  moral  idea  would 
have  appeared  to  him  under  a  form  more  in  accord- 
ance with  human  sentiment,  and  more  readily  appli- 
cable to  the  practice  of  life.  Let  us  not,  however, 
forget,  in  thus  finding  fault  with  Malebranche,  that 
this  great  metaphysician  was  a  Catholic  priest,  and 
that  he  may,  on  this  account,  have  avoided  expressing 
his  thought  in  too  definite  terms.  For,  notwithstand- 
ing his  obscurity  and  mysticism,  he  gave  but  little 
satisfaction  to  theologians;  and  his  life,  in  conse- 
quence, was  one  long  controversy. 

A  system  which  seems,  by  its  definition  of  good, 
to  approach  nearly  to  that  of  Malebranche,  but  which 
errs  in  just  the  opposite  way,  in  not  being  metaphysi- 
cal enough,  is  that  of  the  celebrated  disciple  and 
successor  of  Leibnitz,  Wolf,  who  has  resolved  the 
idea  of  good  into  that  of  perfection.  I  will  tell  you 
Wolf's  mode  of  proceeding  in  determining  his  funda- 
mental principle  of  ethics.  But  I  hardly  dare  to 
refer  you  to  his  work  on  ethical  philosophy,  since, 
lik^  all  others  which  he  wrote,  it  is  of  appalling  di- 

E  E2 


354  JCUFFROF. 

mensions.  To  give  you  an  idea  of  it,  it  will  be 
sufficient  to  state  that  his  Sy  sterna  Moralis  fills  five 
volumes  quarto.  You  can  judge  from  this  of  the 
size  of  the  other  portions  of  his  philosophical  sys- 
tem. 

Wolf  distinguishes  two  kinds  of  good ;  personal 
good,  or  that  of  each  human  individual,  and  common 
good,  or  that  of  all  human  beings  collectively.  In 
his  somewhat  barbarous  phraseology,  he  calls  the 
first  bonum  suitatis,  and  the  second  bonum  communionis. 
And  here  let  me  remark,  that,  beside  the  individual 
man,  Wolf  takes  no  note  of  any  other  beings  except 
men,  which  certainly  is  a  narrow  view.  What  is 
his  idea  of  personal  good?  It  consists,  for  every 
human  being,  in  the  perfection  of  his  nature,  which 
imposes  upon  him  a  twofold  duty ;  first,  self-preserva- 
tion ;  secondly,  self-perfection.  To  say  that,  when 
the  nature  of  a  being  is  given,  good  consists  in  the 
perfection  of  that  nature,  is  the  same  as  saying  that 
this  consists  in  the  greatest  development  of  all  the 
elements  of  his  nature.  The  first  thing  to  be  done, 
then,  to  secure  this  greatest  development  is,  to  take 
care  that  its  elements  are  not  impaired  or  destroyed, 
and,  consequently,  for  a  still  stronger  reason,  that 
the  being  itself  is  not.  Preservation  is,  then,  'the 
condition  of  good.  This  condition  being  secured, 
self-perfection,  or  the  greatest  possible  development 
of  all  the  constituent  elements  of  the  being,  is  the 
means  of  good.  Such,  then,  according  to  Wolf,  is 
the  good  of  the  individual,  its  condition  and  its 
means. 

Common  good  consists,  for  each  one  of  us,  in  the 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM. WOLF.  355 

perfection  of  all  the  individuals  of  our  race,  and 
of  all  the  various  associations  by  which  they  are 
bound  to  each  other  or  to  us.  This  also  imposes 
a  twofold  duty ;  iirst,  the  preservation,  secondly,  the 
improvement,  of  every  individual  and  of  every  com- 
munity. Thus,  in  the  circle  of  the  family,  we  are 
bound  to  labor  for  the  preservation  and  improvement 
both  of  the  family  itself  and  of  all  the  members 
of  which  it  is  composed.  And,  in  the  circle  of  society 
and  in  that  of  humanity,  our  duties  are  the  same. 
We  see,  thus,  that,  for  every  individual,  good  is  divided 
into  personal  good,  and  the  good  of  our  fellow-beings; 
so  that,  for  the  attainment  of  personal  good,  we  must 
preserve  and  perfect  ourselves,  and,  for  the  advance- 
ment of  common  good,  we  must  labor  to  preserve 
and  perfect  our  fellow-beings  separately,  and  the 
various  associations  of  family,  society,  and  humanity, 
in  which  they  are  united. 

Wolf  has  clearly  seen,  gentlemen,  the  connection 
between  these  two  kinds  of  good.  The  preservation 
and  perfection  of  the  individuals  of  which  they  are 
composed  depend  upon  the  development  of  families, 
of  societies,  and  of  the  race.  When  these  associa- 
tions suffer,  each  individual  suffers ;  while  all  develop- 
ments of  families,  of  societies,  and  of  the  race,  add 
to  the  development  —  that  is  to  say,  to  the  power, 
intelligence,  and  happiness  —  of  each  separate  indi- 
vidual. It  is  reciprocally  true,  that  the  good  of  com- 
munities results  from  the  good  of  each  of  its  members. 
These  two  kinds  of  good  mutually  imply  and  suppose 
each  other  ;  and  hence  it  results  that  each  individual 
has  a  strong  reason  for  regarding  the  good  of  his 


*356  JOUFFROY. 

fellow-ueings,  while  they  have  an  equally  strong  reason 
for  regarding  his.  This  reason  is  not,  however,  that 
each  of  these  kinds  of  good  is  seen  to  be  a  personal 
good  by  every  human  being,  but  that  they  are  recog- 
nized as  good  in  themselves ;  for,  according  to  this 
system,  the  ideas  of  good  and  of  perfection  are  identi- 
cal, and,  in  the  eyes  of  reason,  individual  good  and 
common  good  have  equal  claims. 

From  all  these  ideas,  Wolf  deduces  what  he  calls 
a  general  idea  of  good  and  evil ;  that  is  to  say,  a 
formula  which  defines  a  good  action.  This  formula 
I  will  quote ;  you  may  gather  from  it  an  idea  of 
the  scholastic  language  which  the  author  habitually 
uses :  — 

"  Actiones  bonce  tcndunt  vcl  ad  conservationcm  pcr- 
fectionis  cssentialis,  vel  ad  acquirendum  accidentalem, 
vel  ad  conservationcm  generis  liumani  ct  in  specie 
familiar  sute,  ejusque  perfectionem,  vel  ad  conserva- 
tioncm perfections  essentialis  et  acquisitionem  acci- 
dcntalis  aliorum,  vel  denique  ad  perfectionem  communcm 
sociorum  atque  status  eorumdem" 

Such  is  the  general  formula  in  which  Wolf  sums 
up  his  whole  doctrine  as  to  the  nature  of  absolute 
good,  and  of  a  good  action.  This  doctrine,  which 
fills  one  whole  volume  of  his  work,  constitutes  .the 
first  part  of  his  ethical  philosophy.  The  second  part 
has  for  its  object  to  determine  the  various  situations 
in  which  men  may  be  placed,  arid  to  ascertain  the 
acts  which  are  good  and  bad  in  each  of  these.  Upon 
this  task  Wolf  enters  in  the  four  remaining  volumes 
of  his  work. 

What   this    system    chiefly   wants   is   a   foundation. 


THE    RATIONAL    SYSTEM.  WOLF.  357 

Why  does  Wolf  see  fit  to  resolve  the  idea  of  good 
into  that  of  perfection,  rather  than  into  some  other 
idea  ?  On  this  point  he  says  not  a  word.  He  as- 
sumes that  these  ideas  are  equivalent,  without  declar- 
ing whether  he  considers  this  a  self-evident  axiom, 
or  whether  he  is  determined  by  some  reason  in  adopt- 
ing his  opinion.  One  thing  is  certain  —  he  actually 
gives  no  reason  for  so  doing,  and  thus  leaves  it  to 
be  inferred  that  he  considers  them  equivalent,  by 
intuitive  evidence.  This  arbitrary  mode  of  proceed- 
ing is  wholly  unscientmc  ;  and  if  his  system  was  the 
truest  possible,  every  one  would  still  be  authorized 
to  reject  it. 

When  we  examine  this  fundamental  maxim  of 
Wolf,  we  see  at  once  that  he  resolves  the  idea  of 
good  into  an  idea  which  itself  must  be  resolved. 
Doubtless  it  is  more  definite  than  the  idea  of  good, 
and  our  duties  may  be  deduced  from  it  with  less  diffi- 
culty ;  and  yet  it  leaves  the  question  undecided  as  to 
the  essential  characteristics  of  our  own  perfection, 
and  of  the  perfection  of  families,  societies,  and  the 
human  race.  Certainly,  it  would  seem  as  if  Wolf 
ought  to  have  devoted  at  least  some  pages  of  his 
five  volumes  to  the  solution  of  this  question,  as  if  he 
ought,  by  a  metaphysical  examination,  to  have  fixed 
more  precisely  his  general  formula,  and  to  have  de- 
duced from  it  some  method  which  could  be  applied  in 
ascertaining  the  perfection  of  any  particular  being. 
He  might,  then,  have  applied  this  method  to  man 
individually  and  collectively,  and  thus  have  arrived 
at  strict  and  exact  conclusions,  by  which  his  reader 
would  have  been  enabled  to  judge  of  the  excellence 


358  JOUFFROY. 

of  the  results  to  which  his  system  led.  But  Wolf 
has  done  nothing  of  the  kind ;  and  although  his 
good  sense  did  not  allow  him  to  misconceive  either 
the  essential  nature  of  a  being's  perfection,  or  of 
the  mode  of  ascertaining  it,  he  still  seems  to  have 
had  no  scientific  assurance  for  what  he  thought  and 
said ;  and  his  mode  of  determining  the  idea  of  per- 
fection is  as  arbitrary  as  his  conception  of  the  idea. 
In  a  word,  notwithstanding  the  alarming  profusion 
of  divisions,  subdivisions,  and  classifications,  with 
which  his  works  abound,  Wolf  really  was  deficient 
in  the  scientific  spirit,  as  you  may  readily  infer 
from  what  has  now  been  said  of  his  ethics.  I  will 
add  nothing  to  my  remarks  upon  his  theory  now, 
but  will  reserve  my  criticism  until  after  I  have  given 
an  exposition  of  my  own  system. 


THE    END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


-:  .;•:•'•  '-.:•;/ 


NOV  1  6 


2772- 


4r.-.0     ^    /> 

OCT1K 

I3TZ  o  b 

•REtTO  LB  OCT  1 

1  72  ^5  PM  1  2 

DEC  1  9  TO 

LD  21A-60m-3,'65 
(F2336slO)476B 


General  Libraiy 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


